; 


GIFT  OF 
A.    F.    Morrison 


' 


I 


.......  '**-'"' 


RUDYARD    KIPLING. 


POEMS 


RUDYARD   KIPLING 


WITH  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

NATHAN   HASKELL   DOLE 


NEW  YORK:    46  EAST  14TH  STREET 

THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &   COMPANY 
BOSTON:   100  PURCHASE  STREET 


GIFT  OP 

Af 


CONTENTS. 


BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS. 

PAGE 

Danny  Deever 1 

"Tommy" 5 

"  Fuzzy  Wuzzy" 9 

Oonts  ! 13 

Loot , 18 

Soldier,  Soldier 23 

The  Sons  of  the  Widow 26 

Troopin'  29 

Gunga  Din 32 

Mandalay 38 

The  Young  British  Soldier  43 

Screw-Guns 48 

Belts 52 


DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES, 

General  Summary 59 

Army  Headquarters 64 

Study  of  an  Elevation,  in  Indian  Ink 64 

A  Legend  of  the  Foreign  Office 66 

The  Story  of  Uriah  69 

The  Post  that  Fitted 71 

Public  Waste 75 

Delilah 79 

M107277 


111 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

What  Happened 83 

Pink  Dominoes 88 

The  Man  who  could  Write 91 

Municipal 94 

A  Code  of  Morals ' 98 

The  Last  Department  102 


OTHER  VERSES. 

To  the  Unknown  Goddess -. .  107 

The  Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal'vin 110 

La  Nuit  Blanche 113 

My  Rival 118 

The  Lovers'  Litany . . 121 

A  Ballad  of  Burial  124 

Divided  Destinies 127 

The  Masque  of  Plenty 130 

The  Mare's  Nest  139 

Possibilities . 142 

Christmas  in  India 145 

Pagett,  M.  P 149 

The  Song  of  the  Women 153 

A  Ballade  of  Jakko  Hill 157 

The  Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers 159 

The  Ballad  of  Fisher's  Boarding-House  163 

"  As  the  Bell  Clinks  " 169 

An  Old  Song 174 

Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz 178 

The  Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head 185 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days 191 

The  Overland  Mail , .  193 

What  the  People  Said 196 

The  Undertaker's  Horse 199 


CONTENTS.  v 

PAGE 

The  Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie 203 

Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier 207 

One  Viceroy  Resigns 210 

The  Betrothed 222 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities 229 

Giffen's  Debt 234 

In  Springtime ' 238 

Two  Months 240 

The  Galley-Slave 243 

L'Envoi 249 

The  Conundrum  of  the  Workshops 251 

The  Explanation 255 

The  Gift  of  the  Sea 257 

Evarra  and  His  Gods. .  .  262 


LIFE  OF  RUDYARD   KIPLING.* 

IN  the  old  fairy  tales  the  cradles  of  new-born  infants 
were  visited  by  beneficent  beings  who  granted  special 
gifts  of  fortune,  beauty,  talent,  though  sometimes  a 
jealous  hag  would  slink  in  and  by  a  malevolent  counter- 
charm  try  to  spoil  the  bright  future.  Such  things  have 
long  ago  ceased  in  commonplace  England,  but  it  is  differ- 
ent in  India;  and  we  can  hardly  help  believing  that  the 
power  of  understanding  the  speech  of  animals  and  birds 
is  still  occasionally  conferred  on  fortunate  mortals.  Else 
how  can  one  explain  "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,"  and  "Tomai 
of  the  Elephants  "  ? 

Fortunate  for  special  purposes  is  the  man  of  one  race 
and  language  who  is  born  amid  the  men  of  another,  and 
thus  inherits  two  tongues  and  the  knowledge  of  two 
peoples. 

Such  was  the  good  fortune  of  Rudyard  Kipling,  and 
it  is  not  a  mere  legend  that,  on  meeting  with  Indian 
elephants  amid  the  tawdry  surroundings  of  an  American 
circus,  he  was  able  to  talk  and  understand  the  mystic 
language  of  the  jungle. 

In  the  early  sixties,  in  the  English  town  of  Burslem, 
John  Lockwood  Kipling,  the  oldest  son  of  the  Reverend 
Joseph  Kipling,  was  engaged  in  modelling  and  designing 
in  terra-cotta  for  the  potteries  of  that  place.  He  is  de- 
scribed as  a  clever  young  man  of  artistic  temperament 
and  somewhat  erratic.  Having  studied  at  the  art  school 

*  Copyright,  1899,  by  T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 
v 


VI  LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING. 

at  Kensington,  lie  was  sent  out  to  India  as  Professor  of 
Architecture  and  Sculpture  at  Bombay.  He  took  with 
him  as  his  wife  the  daughter  of  the  Reverend  G.  B.  Mac- 
donald,  a  Methodist  minister  at  Endon,  a  talented  young 
woman,  whom  he  had  first  met  at  a  picnic  not  far  from 
the  village  of  Kudyard;  and  perhaps  from  some  pretty 
sentiment  connected  with  their  first  meeting,  their  first 
son,  who  was  born  at  Bombay,  December  31,  1865,  was 
named  Eudyard  Kipling. 

Those  who  like  to  account  for  talent  otherwise  than 
by  the  gift  of  fairies  will  observe  that  in  his  veins  flowed 
—  though  at  a  high  potency  —  the  blood  of  Dutch  an- 
cestors who  emigrated  from  Holland  to  England  in  the 
fifteenth  century;  that  his  mother  was  of  Scotch-Irish 
origin,  and  even  as  a  girl  wrote  charmingly  in  prose  and 
verse.  As  a  child  he  was  quick  to  learn,  fond  of  read- 
ing, and  alert  in  games  and  puzzles.  At  the  age  of 
twelve  Rudyard  accompanied  his  father  to  England,  and 
after  he  had  visited  the  Paris  Exposition  of  1877  was 
placed  in  the  United  Service  College,  near  the  little 
town  of  Westward  Ho  on  the  shores  of  Bristol  Channel. 
He  gives  some  interesting  descriptions  of  the  school  and 
of  his  experiences  there. 

The  college,  he  tells  us,  "stood  within  two  miles  of 
Amy  as  Leigh's  house  at  Northam,  overlooking  the  Bur- 
roughs and  the  Pebbleridge,  and  the  mouth  of  the  Tor- 
ridge,  whence  the  Rose  sailed  in  search  of  Don  Guzman. 
From  the  front  dormitory  windows,  across  the  long  rollers 
of  the  Atlantic,  you  could  see  Lundy  Island  and  the 
Shutter  Eock,  where  the  Santa  Catherina  galleon  cheated 
Amyas  out  of  his  vengeance  by  going  ashore;  Inland 
lay  the  rich  Devonshire  lanes  and  the  fat  orchards ;  and 
to  the  west  the  gorse  and  the  turf  rose  and  fell  along 


LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING.  Vll 

the  tops  of  the  cliffs  in  combe  after  combe,  till  you  came 
to  Clovelly  and  the  Hobby  and  Gallantry  Bower,  and  the 
homes  of  the  Carews  and  the  Pinecoffins,  and  the  Devon- 
shire people  that  were  old  when  the  Armada  was  new." 

One  of  his  schoolmates,  Mr.  George  Arnold  Wilkie, 
describes  his  appearance  in  the  early  summer  of  1879 :  — 

"He  wore  heavy  gold-bowed  spectacles,  and  his  small' 
black  eyes  and  spectacles  were  the  most  readily  observed 
facts  about  him.  He  was  very  brown  from  his  residence 
in  India,  and  he  had  thick  black  hair,  rather  inclined  to 
be  curly.  His  jaw  was  strong,  his  teeth  large  and  very 
white.  I  remember  having  heard  his  fond  mother  at 
that  time  remark  to  a  friend  upon  E/udyard's  fine  fore- 
head. She  was  right  in  the  remark,  too.  He  had  a  roll- 
ing gait,  and  walked  with  his  fists  crammed  in  the  pockets 
of  his  coat.  He  was  a  fairly  good  tennis  player,  and  I 
know  he  used  to  grieve  at  his  near-sightedness,  which 
prevented  him  from  excelling  in  the  sport.  As  a  boy 
Kipling  was  notably  careless  in  dress,  in  spite  of  his 
prim  mother's  and  sister's  frequent  whispered  appeals  to 
be  what  they  called  ( circumspect.7  He  would  not  comb 
and  brush  his  thick  hair  carefully,  and  he  had  a  habit  of 
going  with  his  shoe  .laces  untied.  He  loved  to  fish  (and 
he  does  yet)  all  by  himself,  or,  at  any  rate,  with  only 
one  companion,  and  he  would  come  home  to  his  immacu- 
late mother  and  sister  with  a  mass  of  dock  burrs  or 
several  varieties  of  nettles  clinging  to  his  clothes  in  a 
dozen  places,  while  fish  scales  stuck  to  his  coat  and 
trousers  like  postage  stamps." 

Kipling  is  said  to  have  enjoyed  the  strict,  strenuous 
discipline  of  this  soldier-making  college.  He  was  wise 
enough  even  then  to  recognize  its  purpose. 

"The  school  motto,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "was,  'Fear 


Vlll  LIFE    OF    KUDYARD    KIPLING. 

God,  Honour  the  King ' ;  and  so  the  men  she  made  went 
out  to  Boerland  and  Zululand,  and  India  and  Burma, 
and  Cyprus  and  Hongkong,  and  lived  or  died  as  gentle- 
men and  officers. 

"  Even  the  most  notorious  bully,  for  whom  an  awful 
ending  was  prophesied,  went  to  Canada,  and  was  mixed 
up  in  RiePs  rebellion,  and  came  out  of  it  with  a  fasci- 
nating reputation  of  having  led  a  forlorn  hope,  and 
behaved  like  a  hero.  The  first  officer  killed  in  the  last 
Burma  war  was  one  of  our  boys,  and  the  school  was  well 
pleased  to  think  it  should  be  so. 

"  All  these  matters  were  noted  by  the  older  boys ;  and 
when  their  fathers,  the  grey-whiskered  colonels  and 
generals,  came  down  to  see  them,  or  the  directors,  who 
were  K.  C.  B.'s,  and  had  been  desperate,  hard-fighting 
men  in  their  time,  made  a  tour  of  inspection,  it  was 
reported  that  the  school-tone  was  '  healthy/  This  meant 
that  the  boys  were  straining  on  their  leashes,  and  that 
there  was  a  steady  clatter  of  singlesticks  and  clinking  of 
foils  in  the  gymnasium  at  the  far  end  of  the  corridor, 
where  the  drill-sergeant  was  barking  out  the  regulation 
cuts  and  guards." 

Mr.  William  H.  Rideing  says  in  his  authoritative 
"Boyhood  of  Famous  Authors"  that  the  boys  of  this 
school  were  great  swimmers,  that  there  "  was  not  a  single 
boy  who  could  not  do  his  quarter  of  a  mile."  Their 
favorite  games  were  golf,  "  long  before  it  became  fashion- 
able," cricket,  and  foot-ball.  Kipling  tells  in  his  own 
inimitable  way  of  their  prowess  in  these  games :  — 

"  We  were  weak  in  cricket ;  but  our  foot-ball  team  at 
its  best  devastated  the  country  from  BlundelPs —  we 
always  respected  BlundelPs,  because  'Great  John  Ridd' 
had  been  educated  there  —  to  Exeter,  whose  team  were 


LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING.  IX 

grown  men.  Yet  we,  who  had  been  taught  to  play 
together,  drove  them  back  over  the  November  mud,  back 
to  their  own  goal-post,  till  the  ball  was  hacked  through 
and  touched  down,  and  you  could  he'ar  the  long-drawn 
yell  of  'Schoo-ool!  Schoo-ool!'  as  far  as  Appledore. 

"When  the  enemy  would  not  come  to  us,  our  team 
went  to  the  enemy,  and  if  victorious,  would  return  late 
at  night  in  a  three-horse  brake,  chanting:  — 

4  It's  a  way  we  have  in  the  Army, 
It's  a  way  we  have  in  the  Navy, 
It's  a  way  that  we  have  in  the  Public  Schools, 
Which  nobody  can  deny  ! ' 

"  Then  the  boys  would  flock  to  the  dormitory  windows, 
and  wave  towels,  and  join  in  the  'Hip-hip-hip-hurrah! ' 
of  the  chorus;  and  the  winning  team  would  swagger 
through  the  dormitories,  and  show  the  beautiful  blue 
marks  on  their  shins,  and  the  little  boys  would  be  allowed 
to  get  sponges  and  hot  water." 

From  March,  1882,  until  June,  1883,  Kipling  was 
editor-in-chief  of  the  school-paper,  TJie  Chronicle,  and 
he  gives  a  graphic  description  of  the  way  in  which  it 
was  conducted :  — 

"  Three  of  the  boys,  who  had  moved  up  the  school  side 
by  side  for  four  years,  and  were  allies  in  all  things, 
started  the  notion  as  soon  as  they  came  to  the  dignity  of 
a  study  of  their  own  with  a  door  that  would  lock.  The 
other  two  told  the  third  boy  what  to  write,  and  held  the 
staircase  against  invaders.  ., 

"  It  was  a  real  printed  paper  of  eight  pages ;  and  at 
first  the  printer  was  more  thoroughly  ignorant  of  type- 
setting, and  the  editor  was  more  completely  ignorant  of 
proof-reading,  than  any  printer  and  any  editor  that  ever 


X  LIFE    OF    KUDYARD    KIPLING. 

was.  It  was  printed  off  by  a  gas-engine,  and  even  the 
engine  despised  its  work;  for  one  day  it  went  through 
the  floor  of  the  shop,  and  crashed  —  still  working  furi- 
ously —  into  the  cellar. 

"  The  paper  came  out  at  times  and  seasons ;  but  every 
time  it  came  out  there  was  sure  to  be  trouble,  because 
the  editor  was  learning  for  the  first  time  how  sweet  and 
good  and  profitable  it  is  —  and  how  nice  it  looks  on  the 
page  —  to  make  fun  of  people  in  actual  print. 

"  For  instance,  there  was  friction  among  the  study-fags 
once ;  and  the  editor  wrote  a  descriptive  account  of  the 
lower  school, —  the  classes  whence  the  fags  were  drawn, 
—  their  manners  and  customs,  their  ways  of  cooking 
half-plucked  sparrows  and  imperfectly  cleaned  black- 
birds at  the  gas-jets  on  a  rusty  nib,  and  their  fights  over 
sloe-jam  made  in  a  gallipot.  It  was,  an  absolutely  truth- 
ful article;  but  the  lower  school  knew  nothing  about 
truth,  and  would  not  even  consider  it  as  literature. 

"  It  is  less  safe  to  write  a  study  of  an  entire  class  than 
to  discuss  individuals  one  by  one;  but  apart  from  the 
fact  that  boys  throw  books  and  inkpots  very  straight 
indeed,  there  is  surprisingly  little  difference  between  the 
abuse  of  grown-up  people  arid  the  abuse  of  children. 

"In  those  days  the  editor  had  not  learned  this;  so 
when  the  study  below  the  editorial  study  threw  coal  at 
the  editorial  legs,  and  kicked  in  the  panels  of  the  door, 
because  of  personal  paragraphs  in  the  last  number,  the 
editorial  staff  —  and  there  never  was  so  loyal  and  hard- 
fighting  a  staff  —  fried  fat  bacon  till  there  was  half  an 
inch  of  grease  in  the  pan,  and  let  the  greasy  chunks  down 
at  the  end  of  a  string  to  bob  against  and  defile  the  lower 
study  windows. 

"  When  the  lower  study  —  and  there  never  was  a  public 


LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING.  XI 

so  low  and  unsympathetic  as  that  lower  study  —  looked 
out  to  see  what  was  frosting  their  window-panes,  the 
editorial  staff  emptied  the  hot  fat  on  their  heads,  and  it 
stayed  there  for  days  and  days,  wearing  shiny  to  the 
very  last." 

As  far  as  his  studies  were  concerned  he  gave  little 
promise  of  achieving  fame.  He  was  not  brilliant  in 
mathematics,  and  is  said  to  have  been  once  "plucked" 
in  trigonometry,  but  in  history  he  ranked  well.  When 
he  went  back  to  India  in  1883,  he  took  with  him  the 
gold  medal  of  the  college  for  a  prize  essay  on  England 
and  Her  African  Colonies,  but  his  standing  in  the  col- 
lege was  not  high,  and  for  some  reason  he  did  not  get 
admittance  to  the  army.  His  training  on  the  United 
Service  Chronicle  in  North  Devon  was  the  natural  step 
to  an  editorial  position  first  on  the  Lahore  Journal  and 
afterwards  on  the  Civil  and  Military  Gazette  at  Lahore. 
He  gives  a  lively  and  graphic  description  of  his  work  on 
this  paper  in  the  short  story  entitled  "The  Man  who 
would  be  King."  He  had  to  prepare  telegrams  for  the 
press,  to  provide  extracts  and  paragraphs,  to  make 
"headed  articles"  out  of  official  reports,  to  write  edi- 
torial notes,  to. look  after  local  intelligence,  and  to  read 
proof s;  in  other  words,  he  filled  the  functions  of  tele- 
graph editor,  exchange  editor,  news  editor,  city  editor, 
sporting  editor,  editorial  writer,  and  proof-reader. 

The  story  is  told  of  his  mission  to  interview  a  notori- 
ous fakir,  who  was  reported  to  have  stirred  up  a  great 
religious  excitement  in  the  Punjab  by  having  cut  out  his 
tongue  so  as  to  have  it  grown  again  by  the  aid  of  the 
goddess  Pali.  He  did  not  succeed  in  finding  the  fakir, 
but  he  saw  much  of  Indian  life. 

When   the   Duke  of   Connaught,   commander   of  the 


Xll  LIFE    OF    RUDYAKD    KIPLING. 

northwestern  district  of  India,  visited  the  Kiplings,  he 
asked  Kudyard  what  he  was  going  to  do  in  India  and 
what  he  would  like  to  do.  Kipling  replied  that  he  would 
like  to  live  with  the  army  on  the  frontier  and  write  up 
"Tommy  Atkins." 

The  duke  granted  his  request  and  gave  him  every 
facility  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Danny  Deever, 
Mulvaney,  and  scores  of  other  East  Indian  types.  Many 
of  his  sketches  and  ballads  first  saw  the  light  in  the 
Gazette,  the  first  when  he  was  twenty-one.  He  had 
already  published  two  little  volumes  of  verse,  one  called 
"Schoolboy  Lyrics,"  which  has  become  so  rare  that  a 
copy  was  sold  recently  for  £120  in  London,  and  the  other, 
called  "  Echoes,"  published  in  1885,  and  scarcely  less  rare. 
At  school  he  had  achieved  popularity  as  a  story-teller. 
Mr.  Wilkie  pictures  him  also  in  that  capacity.  He  says : 
"  He  had  a  flow  of  language  when  he  was  sure  he  was 
in  sympathetic  company.  The  moment  an  uncongenial 
spirit  entered  upon  the  scene  he  became  personified  glum- 
ness.  I  can  see  him  now  telling  a  group  of  eager  boyish 
listeners  in  the  hallway  under  the  gymnasium  at  North 
Devon  a  story  of  the  East  Indian  fakirs'  penances,  per- 
haps, and  of  a  sudden  becoming  as  silent  and  grave  as 
the  Sphinx  the  moment  some  uncongenial  boy  came  in. 
He  would  clasp  his  hands  in  front  of  him,  shut  his  lips 
tight,  and  beam  upon  us  through  his  glasses.  He  had  a 
trick  of  rubbing  his  chin  when  the  narrative  of  his  stories 
flagged.  Another  trick  in  his  youth  was  that  of  gestur- 
ing with  his  first  finger  extended  like  a  bayonet.  When 
he  introduced  the  Hindustani  dialect  in  his  stories  (and, 
by  the  way,  he  had  a  very  good  ear  for  dialects  and 
brogues),  he  would  gesticulate  violently  with  his  fore- 
finger. He  would  seldom  use  a  word  not  adapted  to  his 


LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING.  Xlll 

sense  of  fitness.  He  would  rub  his  chin  with  his  chubby 
hand  and  look  up  through  his  glasses  until  the  precise 
word  came  to  his  mind.  We  chaps,  however,  who  had 
no  idea  of  diction  and  sought  only  to  get  the  plot  or  the 
sensation,  would  grow  impatient  to  have  '  Giggsy '  pro- 
ceed. All  the  lads  of  North  Devon  called  him  <  Giggsy,7 
because  of  his  large  spectacles,  that  reminded  one  of 
giglamps." 

In  1885  he  and  various  members  of  the  Kipling  family 
contributed  to  a  volume  of  short  sketches  entitled  "  The 
Christmas  Quartet " ;  its  price  was  only  one  rupee  eight 
annas,  but  it  had  no  sale.  Like  most  such  waifs,  though 
at  first  there  were  enough  of  them  unsold  to  paper 
Lahore  with,  the  little  volume  —  it  had  only  125  pages 
—  is  already  one  of  the  rarities  of  the  auction-room  and 
brings  the  classic  price  of  literary  revenge.  In  1886 
appeared  "On  Her  Majesty's  Service  Only,"  the  first 
series  of  Departmental  Ditties,  which  was  made  up  of 
the  ballads  and  other  verses  which  he  had  contributed  to 
the  Gazette.  Sir  William  Hunter,  Chancellor  of  Bombay 
University,  ventured  a  prediction  regarding  it.  "  This 
book,"  he  said,  "gives  promise  of  a  new  literary  star 
rising  in  the  East."1  It  was  followed  two  years  later 
by  "Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills"  and  "Soldiers  Three," 
on  the  title-page  of  which  were  the  date  and  place  of 
publication;  but  several  of  his  works  issued  in  Allahabad 
in  1888  bore  no  date. 

In  1890  Mr.  Kipling  left  India  for  London  by  the  way 
of  China  and  America.  It  is  said  that  he  vainly  tried 
to  obtain  newspaper  work  in  San  Francisco,  and  found 
neither  publisher  nor  friend.  Afterward  he  included  in 

1  A  copy  was  sold  in  London  in  March,  1899,  for  £8  7s.  6d. 


XIV  LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING. 

his  reminiscences  of  America  some  rather  sarcastic  com- 
ments on  San  Francisco,  which  he  called  "  a  mad  city, 
inhabited  for  the  most  part  by  perfectly  insane  people," 
but  he  did  not  forget  to  atone  for  this  characterization 
by  praising  the  beauty  of  their  women.  When  he  reached 
New  York  he  was  commissioned  by  the  New  York  Herald 
to  interview  Mark  Twain,  and  he  accomplished  it  with 
brilliant  success.  He  also  visited  relatives  in  Boston, 
but  few  who  met  him  at  that  time  dreamed  that  he  would 
within  a  decade  become  the  most  famous  literary  man  of 
the  century. 

While  he  was  in  New  York  he  published  "  The  Court- 
ing of  Dinah  Shadd  and  Other  Stories,"  and  the  follow- 
ing year  came  the  London  reprint  of  the  "  Departmental 
Ditties,"  with  additions.  These  began  to  attract  atten- 
tion, and  Mr.  Edmund  Yates  of  the  London  World,  by 
the  suggestion  of  a  friend,  had  him  interviewed,  and 
thus  began  the  vogue  which  so  rapidly  increased. 

In  1891  he  cooperated  with  Mr.  Wolcott  Balestier  in 
writing  "The  Naulahka,"  and  in  January,  1892,  he  was 
married  to  Mr.  Balestier's  sister  and  built  for  himself  a 
house  near  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  as  original  and  unique 
in  design  as  he  is  in  genius.  Here  he  lived,  shunning 
all  notoriety,  and  busily  engaged  in  producing  his  master- 
pieces. Happening  to  be  in  New  York,  he  was  asked 
by  a  friend  whom  he  would  like  to  meet  at  a  private 
dinner.  He  mentioned  a  few  names,  and  the  dinner 
came  off.  He  entertained  the  company  with  some  stories 
of  Indian  animal  life.  Mrs.  Mary  Mapes  Dodge,  who 
was  present,  was  delighted,  and  asked  him  to  write  some 
of  them  out  for  St.  Nicholas.  Thus  originated  the 
"Jungle  Books,"  for  which  one  is  safe  to  predict  immor- 
tality. 


LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING.  XV 

In  1896  Mr.  Kipling,  having  made  a  study  of  the 
Gloucester  fisherman's  life,  wrote  "  Captains  Courageous." 
In  order  to  get  into  the  spirit  of  the  men  he  described, 
he  sailed  on  a  fishing-smack.  He  stayed  at  a  small  hotel 
in  Gloucester  and  did  not  register  his  name.  It  is  told 
of  him  that  one  day  he  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  of  this 
hotel,  and  some  one  came  in  and  inquired  of  the  landlady 
if  she  knew  where  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  lodged.  Kip- 
ling held  his  paper  before  his  face,  and  apparently  went 
on  reading,  but  did  not  betray  his  presence.  The  land- 
lady said  she  did  not  know  of  any  such  person,  and  the 
would-be  visitor  or  interviewer  departed  none  the  wiser. 

In  1897  he  returned  to  England,  and  the  following 
year  he  went  to  Cape  Town,  accompanied  by  his  family. 
On  his  return  he  settled  for  a  time  at  Rottingdean,  in 
Sussex,  on  the  south  coast  of  England;  but  in  February 
of  the  present  year  he  came  to  New  York  again,  and  it 
was  reported  that  he  was  bound  for  Mexico. 

But  the  severity  of  the  weather  and  the  wretched  con- 
dition of  New  .York  streets  and  other  causes  brought  on 
an  attack  of  pneumonia,  which  very  nearly  proved  fatal. 
The  whole  reading  world  hung  with  intense  concern  on 
the  daily  bulletins  issued  by  the  doctors.  The  depth  of 
sympathy  everywhere  manifested  told  how  wonderfully 
unanimous  was  the  feeling  which  this  gifted  man  had 
awakened.  Crowned  heads  sent  their  messages  of  con- 
dolence, and  periodicals  of  every  kind  vied  with  one 
another  in  a  chorus  of  appreciation  and  eulogy.  He  was 
hailed  as  the  Poet  Laureate  of  the  English-speaking  race, 
and  the  sale  of  his  works  immediately  progressed  by 
leaps  and  bounds.  A  few  disgruntled  penny-a-liners,  as 
usual,  tried  to  pick  flaws  in  his  personality.  He  was 
charged  with  being  brusque  and  even  churlish.  But  all 


XVI  LIFE    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING. 

decent  men  have  respected  him  for  his  modesty,  his  pro- 
test against  public  exploitation,  his  dignified  simplicity; 
and  those  who  know  him  personally  can  match  stories 
of  his  generosity,  his  sense  of  humor,  his  genuine 
courtesy  and  pleasant  ways. 

NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE. 


DANNY  DEEVER. 

"  WHAT  are  the  bugles  blowin'  for?"  said  Files- 

on-Parade. 

/  "  To  turn  you  out,  to  turn  you  out/'  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 
"  What  makes  you  look  so  white,   so  white  ?  " 

said  Files-on-Parade. 

"  I'm  dreadin'  what  I've  got  to  watch,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

For  they're   hangin'   Danny  Deever,  you 

can  'ear  the  Dead  March  play, 
The  regiment's  in  'ollow  square — they're 

hangin'  him  to-day  ; 
They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an'  cut 

his  stripes  away, 

An'  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the 
mornin'. 


2  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

"  What   makes   the  rear-rank   breathe  so  'ard !" 

said  Files-on-Parade. 

"  It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold/'   the  Color-Ser- 
geant said. 
jf      "  What  makes  that  front-rank  man  fall  down  ?  " 

says  Files-on-Parade. 

"  A  touch  of   sun,   a  touch   of   sun,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  they  are 

marchin'  of  'im  round, 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is  coffin 

on  the  ground  ; 
An'    'e'll    swing   in   'arf  a  minute  for  a 

sneakin',  shoothV  hound — 
0  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the 
mornin'  ! 


"  'Is  cot  was  right-'and  cot  to  mine,"  said  Files- 
on-Parade. 

"'E's  sleepin'  out  an'  far  to-night,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 


DANNY    DEEVER.  3 

"  I've  drunk  'is  beer  a  score  o'  times,"  said  Files- 

on-Parade. 

"  'E's    drinkin'    bitter    beer  alone/'    the    Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you  must 

mark  'im  to  'is  place, 
For  'e  shot  a  comrade  sleepin'  —  you  must 

look  'im  in  the  face  ; 
Nine  'undred  of   'is  county  an'  the  regi- 

ment's disgrace, 

While  they're   hangin'   Danny  Deever   in 
the  mornin'. 


"  What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun  ?  "  said  Files- 

on-Parade. 
"It's   Danny  fightin'   'ard  for  life,"  the  Color- 

Sergeant  said. 
"  What's   that  that   whimpers    over'ead  ?  "    said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"  It's  Danny's  soul  that's  passin'  now,"  the  Color- 

Sergeant  said. 


BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


For  they're  done  with  Danny  Deever,  you 
can  'ear  the  quickstep  play, 

The  regiment's  in  column,  an'  they're 
marchin'  us  away ; 

Ho !  the  young1  recruits  are  shakin'.  an* 
they'll  want  their  beer  to-day, 

After  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 


"  TOMMY.'' 


"  TOMMY." 

I  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o'  beer, 
The  publican  'e  up  an'   sez,   "  We  serve   no  red- 
coats here." 

The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an'  gig- 
gled fit  to  die, 

I  outs  into  the  street  again,  an'  to  myself  sez  I : 
0  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an 

"  Tommy  go  away ;  " 
But  it's  "  Thank  you  Mister  Atkins/'  when 

the  band  begins  to  play, 
The  band   begins   to   play,  my  boys,  the 

band  begins  to  play, 

0  it's  "  Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins,"  when 
the  band  begins  to  play. 

I  went  into  a  theater  as  sober  as  could  be, 
They  give  a  drunk  civilian  room,  but  'adn't  none 
for  me  ; 


O  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

They  sent  me  to  the  gallery  or  round  the  music-' alls, 
But   when   it    comes  to    fighting   Lord  !     they'll 
shove  me  in  the  stalls. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an' 

"  Tommy  wait  outside ;  " 
But  it's  "  Special  train  for  Atkins/'  when 

the  trooper's  on  the  tide, 
The  troopship's  on  the  tide,  my  boys,  etc. 

0  makin'  mock  o'  uniforms  that  guard  you  while 

you  sleep 

Is  cheaper  than  them  uniforms,  an'  they're  star- 
vation cheap ; 
An'  hustlin'  drunken  sodgers  when  they're   goin' 

large  a  bit 

Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin'  in  full  kit. 
Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Tommy,  'ow's  yer  soul  ?  " 
But  it's  "  Thin  red  line  of  'eroes  "  when 

the  drums  begin  to  roll, 
The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  etc. 


"  TOMMY."  7 

We  aren't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  nor  we  aren't  no 

blackguards  too. 
But  single  men  in  bar  ricks,  most  remarkable  like 

you; 
An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  isn't  all  your  fancy 

paints, 

Why,  single   men   in  barricks  don't    grow  into 
plaster  saints. 

While  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  «  Tommy  fall  be'ind  ;  " 
But  it's  "  Please  to   walk  in  front,  sir," 

when  there's  trouble  in  the  wind, 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys,  etc. 

You  talk  o5  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools,  an' 

fires,  an'  all : 
We'll   wait    for    extry   rations    if   you    treat    us 

rational. 
Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room  slops,  but  prove 

it  to  our  face 

The  Widow's  uniform  is  not  the    soldier-man's 

•• 

disgrace. 


8  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

For    it's  Tommy  this,  an'   Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Chuck  him  out,  the  brute  !  " 
But  it's  "  Saviour   of  'is  country  "  when 

the  guns  begin  to  shoot ; 
An'  it's  Tommy  this,    an'   Tommy  that, 

an'  anything  you  please  ; 
An'   Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'   fool — you 

bet  that  Tommy  sees ! 


FUZZY-WUZZY."  9 


«  FUZZY-WUZZY." 

(Soudan  Expeditionary  Force.) 

WE'VE  fought  with   many  men   acrost  the  seas, 
An'  some  of  'em  was  brave  an'  some  was  not : 
The  Pay  than  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese ; 

But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im  : 

'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  an'  'ocked  our  'orses, 
'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  Su&Jcim, 

An'  'e  played  the  cat  an'  banjo  with  our  forces. 
So    'ere's    to  you,    Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan ; 
You're  a  pore  benighted    'eathen  but  a 

first-class  fightin'  man ; 
We   gives  you  your  certifikit,  an'  if  you 

want  it  signed 

We'll   come  an'  'ave    a    romp  with  you 
whenever  you're  inclined. 


10  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kyber  'ills, 

The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile, 
The  Burman  guv  us  Irriwaddy  chills, 

An'  a  Zulu  impi  dished  us  up  in  style : 
But  all  we  ever  got  from  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swaller  ; 
We  'eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say, 

But  man  for  man  the  Fuzzy  knocked  us  'oiler. 
Then  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an'  the 

missis  and  the  kid  ; 
Our  orders  was  to  break  you,  an'  of  course 

we  went  an'  did. 
We    sloshed    you  with    Martinis,   an'    it 

wasn't  'ardly  fair ; 

But  for  all  the  odds  agin  you,  Fuzzy-Wuz, 
you  bruk  the  square. 

'E  'asn't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 
'E  'asn't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards, 

So  we  must  certify  the  skill  Vs  shown 
In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords  : 


"  FUZZY-WUZZY."  11 

When  'e's  'oppin'  in  an'  out  among  the  Lush 

With  'is  coffin-' eaded  shield  an'  shovel-spear, 
A  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 
Will  last  a  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 

So  'ere's   to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an'  your 

friends  which  is  no  more, 
If   we    'adn't    lost    some    messmates    we 

would  'elp  you  to  deplore  ; 
But  give  an'  take's   the  gospel,  an'  we'll 

call  the  bargain  fair, 

For  if  you  'ave  lost  more   than   us,  you 
crumpled  up  the  square  ! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  we  let  drive, 

An',  before  we  know,  'e's  'ackin'  at  our  'ead ; 
'E's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive, 

An'  'e's  generally  shammin'  when  'e's  dead. 
'E's  a  daisy,  'e's  a  ducky,  'e's  a  lamb  ! 

'E's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E's  the  on'y  thing  that  doesn't  care  a  damn 

For  the  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree. 


12  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

So   'ere's  to   you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan  ; 
You're  a  pore   benighted    'eathen  but  a 

first-class  fightin'  man  ; 
An'  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  with  your 

'ayrick  'ead  of  'air — 
You  big  black  boundin'  beggar — for  you 

bruk  a  British  square. 


OONTS !  13 

OONTS ! 

(Northern  India  Transport  Train.) 

WOT  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes 

'im  to  perspire  ? 
It  isn't  standin'   up  to   charge  or  lyin'  down  to 

fire; 

But  it's   everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin'  road 
For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commissariat 
load. 

0  the  oontj  0  the  oont,  0  the  commissa- 
riat oont ! 
With  'is  silly  neck  a-bobbin'  like  a  basket 

full  o'  snakes; 
We  packs  'im  like  a  idol,  an'  you  ought 

to  'ear  'im  grunt, 

An'  when  we  gets  'im  loaded  up  'is  blessed 
girth-rope  breaks. 

1  Camel :  oo  is  pronounced  like  u  in  "bull,"  but  by  Mr.  Atkins 
to  rhyme  with  "  front." 


14  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear    so   'ard  when 

night  is  drorin'  in, 
An'    every  native    follower    is    shiverin'    for    'is 

skin? 
It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  bein'  rushed  by  Paythans 

frum  the  'ills, 

It's  the  commissariat  camel  puttin'  on  'is  blessed 
frills ! 

,0  the  oont,  0  the  oont,  0  the  hairy  scary 

oont ! 
A  trippin'  over  tent-ropes  when  we've  got 

the  night  alarm  ; 
We  socks  'im  with  a  stretcher-pole    an' 

'eads  'im  off  in  front, 
An'  when  we've  saved  'is  bloomin'  life  'e 
chaws  our  bloomin'  arm. 

The  orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock's  but 

a  fool, 
The  elephant's  a  gentleman,  the  baggage-mule's 

a  mule ; 


OONTS !  15 

But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,  when  all  is  said 

an'  done, 

'E's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child  in 
one. 

0  the  oont,  0  the  oont,  0  the  Gawd-for- 
saken oont ! 
The  'umpy-lumpy  'ummin'-bird  a-singin' 

where  'e  lies, 
'E's  blocked  the  'ole   division    from    the 

rear-guard  to  the  front, 
An'    when    we    gets   'im    up    again — the 
beggar  goes  an'  dies  ! 

'E'll  gall  an'  chafe  an'  lame  an'  fight ;  'e  smells 

most  awful  vile  ; 
'E'll  lose   'imself  forever   if  you   let  'im  stray  a 

mile; 
'E  s  game  to  graze  the  'ole  day  long  an'  'owl  the 

'ole  night  through, 
An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground   5e   splits 

'isself  in  two. 


16  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

0  the  oont,  0  the  oont,  0  the  flopping 

droppin'  oont  ! 
When  'is   long  legs  give  from  under  an' 

'is  meltin'  eye  is  dim, 
The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us  an'  the  tribes 

is  out  in  front, 
It  ain't  no  jam  for  Tommy,  but  it's  kites 

and  crows  for  'im. 

So  when  the   cruel  march   is  done  an'  when  the 

roads  is  blind, 
An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears  the 

shots  be'ind, 
0  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  and  all  'is  woes 

is  past : 

'E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,  an'  gets  revenge 
at  last. 

0  the   oont,   0   the  oont,  0  the  floatin', 

bloatin'  oont! 

The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water-cut 
he  lies ; 


OONTS !  17 

We  keeps  a  mile  behind  'im  an'  we  keeps 

a  mile  in  front, 
But  'e  gets  into  the    drinkin'   casks,  and 

then  o'  course  we  dies. 


18  BARKACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


LOOT. 

/ 

IF  you've   ever   stole  a  pheasant-egg  be'ind  the 

keeper's  back, 

If  you've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  frum  the  line, 
If  you've  ever  crammed  a  gander  in  your  bloomin' 

'aversack, 

You  will  understand  this  little  song  o'  mine. 
But  the  service  rules  are  'ard,  an'  frum  such  we 

are  debarred. 
For  the  same  with  British  morals  does  not  suit 

(Cornet:  Toot !  -toot  !)— 
Wy,   they   call  a  man   a  robber  if   'e  stuffs  'is 

marchin'  clobber 
With  the— 

(Chorus)  Loo !  loo  !  Lulu  !  lulu  !  Loo !  loo  !  Loot! 
loot!  loot! 

'Ow  the  loot ! 
Bloomin'  loot ! 


LOOT.  19 

That's  the  thing  to   make    the  boys  git  up 

an'  shoot ! 

It's  the  some  with  clogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap  'em  forward  with  a  Loo  !  loo  !    Lulu  ! 

Loot! 

(ff)  Whoopee  !  Tear  'im,  puppy  !  Loo  loo  !  Lulu  ! 
Loot !  loot !  loot ! 

If  you've  knocked  a  nigger  edgeways  when  'e's 

thrustin'  for  your  life, 
You   must   leave    'im    very    careful    where    'e 

fell; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars  an'  gaiters  if  you  didn't 

feel  'is  knife 
That   you    ain't   told     off     to     bury    him    as 

well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they  spade 

the  beggars  under 

Why     lootin'      should      be      entered     as     a 
crime  ; 


20  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

So  if  my  song  you'll  'ear,  I  will  learn  you  plain 

an'  clear 

'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime 
(Chorus.}  With  the  loot,  etc. 


Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round  a  gilded 

Burma  god 

That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones ; 
An'  if  you  treat  a  nigger  to  a  dose  o'  cleanin'- 

rod 

'E's  like  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When  'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some  water 

on  the  floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer   'ollow   to   the  boot 

(Cornet:  Toot!  toot!)— 
When    the    ground  begins   to  sink,   shove  your 

baynick  down  the  chink, 
An'  you're  sure  to  touch  the — 
(Chorus.)     Loo  !     loo  !      Lulu  !      Loot  !    loot  ! 
loot! 

'Ow  the  loot,  etc. 


LOOT.  21 

When  from  'ouse  to  'ouse  you're  'untin'  you  must 

always  work  in  pairs — 

It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  will  find — 
For  a  single  man   gits  bottled   on   them  twisty- 

wisty  stairs, 

An'  a  woman  comes  and  dobs  'im  from  be'ind. 
When  you've  turned  'em  inside  out,  an'  it  seems 

beyond  a  doubt 
As  if  there   weren't  enough  to   dust   a  flute 

(Cornet:  Toot!  toot  !)- 
Before  you  sling  your  'ook,  at    the    'ouse-tops 

take  a  look, 

For  it's  underneath  the  tiles  they  'ide  the  loot. 
(Chorus.)      Ow  the  loot,  etc. 

You  can  mostly  square   a  Sergint  an'  a  Quarter- 
master too, 

If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go ; 
I  could  never  keep  my  pickin's,  but  I've  learned 

you  all  I  knew — 
An'  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 


22  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

An'  now  I'll  bid  good-by,  for  I'm  gettin'  rather 


An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot   (Cornet: 

Toot!  toot!)— 
So  'ere's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the  Widow's 

clo'es, 

An'  the  Devil  send  'em   all  they  want  o'  loot  ! 
(Chorus.}  Yes,  the  loot, 
Bloomin'  loot. 

In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the  boot  ! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Whoop  'em  forward  with  the  Loo  !  loo  !  Lulu  ! 

Loot  !  loot  !  loot  ! 

Heeya  !    Sick  'im,  puppy  !    Loo  !    loo  !  Lulu  ! 
Loot!  loot!  loot! 


SOLDIER,    SOLDIER.  23 


SOLDIER,  SOLDIER. 

"  SOLDIER,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Why  don't  you  march  with  my  true  love  ?  " 
"  We're  fresh  from  off  the   ship,   an'    'e's  maybe 

give  the  slip, 

An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 
New  love  !     True  love  ! 
Best  go  look  for  a  new  love, 
The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you'd  better 

dry  your  eyes, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love  ?  " 

"  I  see  'im  serve  the  Queen  in  a  suit  o'  rifle  green, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

u  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love  ?  " 


24  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS. 

"  I  see  'im  runnin'  by  when  the  shots   begun   to 

fly- 

But  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love  ?  " 
"  I  couldn't  see  the   fight,  for  the  smoke  it  lay 

so  white — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

• 
"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

I'll  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love  !  " 
"  'E's  lying  on  the   dead  with  a  bullet   through 

'is  'ead, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
I'll  lie  down  an'  die  with  my  true  love !  " 

"  The  pit  we  dug'll   'ide   'im    an'   twenty   men 

beside  'im — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 


SOLDIER,    SOLDIER.  25 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love  ?  " 
"  I  briiiff  a  lock   of   'air   that  'e   allus    used   to 

o 

wear, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

0  then  I  know  it's  true  I've  lost  my  true  love  ! '? 
"  An'  I  tell  you   truth  again — when   you've  lost 

the  feel  o'  pain 

You'd  best  take  me  for  your  true  love." 
True  love  !     New  love  ! 
Best  take  'imfor  a  new  love. 
The  dead    they   cannot  rise,  an9  you'd 

better  dry  your  eyes, 
Art  you'd  best  take  'im  for  your  true 
love. 


26  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


THE  SONS  OF  THE  WIDOW. 

'AvE  you  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

With  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead  ? 
She  'as   ships  on  the  foam — she  'as   millions  at 

'ome, 
An'  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 

(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red  ! ) 
There's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses 

There's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores — 
An'  'er  troopers  you'll  find  with  a  fair  wind  behind 
That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — barbarious  wars  !  ) 

Then   'ere's  to    the   Widow  at  Windsor, 

An'  'ere's  to  the  stores  an'  the  guns, 

The  men  'an  the  'orses  what  makes  up  the 

forces 

0'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 
(Poor  beggars  ! — Victorier's  sons  !) 


THE    SONS    OF    THE    WIDOW.  27 

Walk  wide  'o  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  creation  she  owns  : 
We  'ave  bought  'er  the  same  with  the  sword  an' 

the  flame, 
An'  we've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — it's  blue  with  our  bones  !) 
Hands  off  o'  the  sons  of  the  Widow, 
Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop, 
For  the  Kings  must  come  down  an'  the  Emperor 

frown 

When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  "  Stop  !  " 

(Poor  beggars  ! — we're  sent  to  say  "  Stop  !  ") 

Then  'ere's  to  the  Lodge   o'   the  Widow, 

From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics  it  runs — 

To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with  the  rank 

an'  the  file, 

An'  open  in  forms  with  the  guns. 
(Poor  beggars  ! — it's  always  them  guns  !) 

We  'ave  'eard  'o  the  Widow  at  Windsor 
It's  safest  to  let  'er  alone  : 


28  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an'  the  land 
Wherever  the  bugles  are  blown. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — an'  don't  we  get  blown  ! ) 
Take  'old  o'  the  wings  o'  the  morning 

^Vn'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you're  dead ; 
But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that  they 

play 

To  the  bloomin'  old  rag  over'ead. 
(Poor  beggars  !— it's  'ot  over'ead  !) 

Then  'ere's   to  the  sons  o'  the  Widow, 

Wherever,  'owever  they  roam. 
'Ere's  all  they   desire,   an'   if  they  re- 
quire 

A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 
(Poor  beggars  ! — they'll  never  see  'ome  !) 


TROOPIN'.  29 


TROOPIN'. 

(Our  Army  in  the  East.) 

TROOPIN',  trooping  troopin'  to  the  sea  : 

'Ere's    September    come    again — the    six-year 

men  are  free. 
0  leave  the  dead  be'ind  us,  for  they  cannot  come 

away 

To  where  the  ship's   a-coalin'  up  that  takes  us 
'ome  to-day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary-Anne, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 

As  a  time-expired  man. 


30  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

The  Malabar*  in   'arbor  with  the  Jumner  at  'er 

tail, 
An'  the  time-expired' s  waitin'  of  'is  orders  for  to 

sail. 
0  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we 

%> 
But  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  'ome 

to-day. 

They'll  turn  us  out  at  Portsmouth  wharf  in  cold 

an'  wet  an'  rain. 
All  wearin'   Injian   cotton  kit,  but  we  will   not 

complain  ; 
They'll  kill   us   of  pneumonia — for  that's   their 

little  way — 
But  damn  the   chills  and  fever,  men,  we're   goin' 

'ome  to-day  ! 

Troopin',  troopin' — winter's  round  again  ! 
See  the  new  draf's  pourin'  in  for  the   old   cam- 
paign ; 


TROOPIN'.  31 

Ho,  you  poor  recruities,  but  you've  got  to  earn 

your  pay- 
What's   the   last    from    Lunnon,    lads  ?     We're 

goin'  there  to-day. 

Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer — 

'Ere's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  English 

beer ; 
The  Colonel  an'  the  regiment  an'  all  who've  got 

to  stay, 

Gawd's  mercy  strike  'em  gentle — Whoop  !  we're 
goin'  'ome  to-day. 

We're  goin   'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary-Anne, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 

As  a  time-expired  man. 


32  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


GUNGA  DIN. 

The  bhisti,  or  water-carrier,  attached  to  regiments  in  India,  is 
often  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the  Queen's  servants.  He  is  also 
appreciated  by  the  men. 

[THIS   BALLAD   IS   EXTENSIVELY   PLAGIARIZED.] 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  an'  beer 

When  you're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 

An'    you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'   Aldershot 

it; 

But  if  it  comes  to  slaughter 
You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 
An'  you'll  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im  that's 

got  it. 

Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 
Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 
A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 
Of  all  them  black-faced  crew 
The  finest  man  I  knew 
Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din. 


GUNGA   DIN.  33 

He  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din  ! 

You  limping  lump   o'    brick-dust,  Gunga 

Din! 

Hi !  slippy  hi  thereto  ! 
Water,  get  it !     Pa/nee  lao  ! 1 
You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din  ! " 

The  uniform  'e  wore 
Was  nothin'  much  before, 
An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 
For  a  twisty  piece  o'  rag 
An'  a  goatskin  water-bag 
Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 
When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 
In  a  sidin'  through  the  day, 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin'  eye- 
brows crawl, 

We  shouted  "  Harry  By  !  "  2 
Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry, 
Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  couldn't  serve  us  all. 

1  Bring  water  swiftly. 

2 Mr.  Atkins's  equivalent  for  "  O  Brother  ! " 
3 


34  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

It  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din  ! 

You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave  you 

been  ? 

You  put  some  juldee  in  it, 
Or  I'll  marrow  you  this  minute  i 
If  you  don't   fill  up   my  helmet,  Gunga. 

Din!" 

*E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 

Till  the  longest  day  was  done, 

An'  'e  didn't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 

You  could  bet  your  bloornin'  nut, 

'E'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 

With  'is  mussick  on  'is  back, 

'E  would  skip  with  our  attack, 

An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "  Retire." 

An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 

3E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 

When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire ! 

1  Hit  you. 


GUNGA   DIN.  35 

It  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din !  » 

With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the 

green. 

When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  'ear  the  front-files  shout  : 
"  Hi !  ammunition-mules  an'  Gunga  Din  ! " 

I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With    a   bullet   where   my    belt-plate  should  'a' 

been. 

I^was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst, 
An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 
Was    our    good    old    grinnin',    gruntin'    Gunga 

Din. 

'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 
An'  'e  plunged  me  where  I  bled, 
An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water — greeny 
It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk, 
But  of  all  the  drinks  I've  drunk, 
I'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 


36  BARRACK-BOOM    BALLADS. 

It  was  "  Din  !  Din  !  Din  I 

'Ere's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is 
spleen ; 

'E's  chawin'  up  the  ground  an'  'e's  kick- 
in'  all  around  : 

For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga 
Din  !  " 

'E  carried  me  away 

To  where  a  dooli  lay, 

An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

An'  just  before  'e  died  : 

"I  'ope    you  liked   your    drink,"    sez  Gunga 

Din. 

So  I'll  meet  'im  later  on 
In  the  place  where  'e  is  gone — 
Where  it's  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen ; 
'Ell  be  squattin'  on  the  coals 
Givin'  drink  to  pore  damned  souls, 
An'  I'll  get  a  swig  in  Hell  from  Gunga  Din ! 


GUNGA   DIN.  37 

Din!  Din!  Din! 

You  L^zarushmn^eathfirJGunga  Din  ! 
Tho'  I've  belted  you  an'  flayed  you, 
By  the  livin'  Gawd  that  made  you, 
You're  a  better  man   than  I  am,  Gunga 
Din! 


38  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


MANDALAY. 

BY  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward 

to  the  sea, 
There's  a  Burma   girl   a-settin',  an'   I  know  she 

thinks  'o  me  ; 

For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  an'  the  temple- 
bells  they  say  : 

"  Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier  ;  come  you 
back  to  Mandalay  !  " 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay  : 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin'  from 

Rangoon  to  Mandalay  ? 
0  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer 
China  'crost  the  Bay  ! 


MANDALAY.  39 

'Er   petticut    was    yaller  an'  'er  little    cap    was 

green, 
An'  'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat — jes'  the  same  as 

Theebaw's  Queen, 
An'  I  seed  her  fust  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin'  white 

cheroot, 

An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  idol's 
foot  : 

Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 

Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd — 

Plucky   lot   she   cared  for  idols   when  I 

kissed  'er  where  she  stud  ! 
,  On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the  sun 

» 

was  droppin'  slow, 
#     She'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she'd  sing  "Kulla- 

lo-lo  !  " 
With  'er  arm    upon   my  shoulder  an'   her  cheek 

agin  my  cheek 
We    useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis 

pilin'  teak. 


40  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 

Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you  was 

'arf  afraid  to  speak ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

But  that's  all  shove  be'ind  me — long  ago  an'  fur 

away, 
An'  there  ain't  no  'buses  runnin'  from  the  Benk 

to  Mandalay ; 

An'  I'm  learnin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten- 
year  sodger  tells : 

"  If  you've  'eard  the  East  a-callin',  why,  you  won't 
'eed  nothin'  else." 

No !  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  el^e 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells 

An'  the  sunshine  an'  the  palm-trees  an' 

the  tinkly  temple  bells  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gutty  pavin'- 
stones, 


MANDALAY.  41 

An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the  fever 

in  my  bones  ; 
Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty  'ousemaids  outer  Chelsea 

to  the  Strand, 

An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  loving  but  wot  do  they 
understand  ? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and — 

Law  !  wot  do  they  understand  ? 

I've  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner, 

greener  land ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez  where  the  best 

is  like  the  worst, 
Where  there  aren't  no  Ten  Commandments,  an'  a 

man  can  raise  a  thirst ; 
For  the  temple-bells  are  callin',  an'  it's  there  that 

I  would  be — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  lazy  at  the 

sea — 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay. 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 


42  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

With  our  sick  beneath  the  awnings  when 

we  went  to  Mandalay  ! 
Oh,  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer 

China  'crost  the  Bay  ! 


THE    YOUNG    BRITISH    SOLDIER.  43 


THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER. 

WHEN  the   'arf-inade    recruity  goes  out  to  the 

East 

'E  acts  like  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast, 
An'    'e    wonders     because     'e    is     frequent    de- 
ceased 

Ere  'e's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier. 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

So-oldier  hof  the  Queen  ! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what's  drafted  to-day, 
You    shut    up    your    rag-box    an'    'ark    to    my 

lay, 

An'  I'll  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may : 
A  soldier  what's  fit  for  a  soldier.. 
Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier — 


44  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

First,  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers'  huts, 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay'nets  that  rots  out 

your  guts — 

Ay,  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your 
butts — 

An'  it's  bad  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier — 

When  the  cholera  comes — as  it  will  past  a  doubt — 
Keep  out  of  the  wet  and  don't  go  on  the  shout, 
For  the    sickness    comes    in   as  the   liquor   dies 
out, 

An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  soldier. 
Crum-,  crum-,  crumples  the  soldier — 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over'ead  ; 
You  must  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said. 
If  'e  finds  you  uncovered   Vll   knock  you  down 
dead, 

An'  you'll  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 
Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier — 


THE    YOUNG    BRITISH    SOLDIER.  45 

If  you're  cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  unkind, 
Don't   grouse  like   a  woman  nor   crack  on    nor 

blind  ; 
Be  handy  and  civil,  and  then  you  will  find 

As  it's  beer  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier — 

Now,  if  you  must  marry,  take   care  she  is  old — 
A  troop-sergeant's  widow's  the  nicest  I'm  told — 
For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  vittles  is  cold, 
An'  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier, 

'Nough,  'nough,  'nough  for  a  soldier — 

If  the  wife   should  go  wrong  with   a  comrade, 

be  loath 
To  shoot  when  you  catch  'em — you'll  swing,  on 

my  oath  ! — 

Make  'im  take  'er  and  keep  'er ;  that's  hell  for 
them  both, 

An'   you're  quit  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  of  a  soldier — 


46  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

When    first    under    fire    an'    you're    wishful    to 

duck, 
Don't    look    or   take    'eed   at   the    man    that  is 

struck, 

Be  thankful  you're  livin'  an'  trust  to  your  luck, 
An'  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 
Front,  front,  front  like  a  soldier. 

When  ?arf  of  your  bullets  fly  wide  in  the  ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini  a  cross-eyed  old  bitch ; 
She's  human  as  you   are — you  treat  her  as  sich, 
An'  she'll  fight  for  the  young  British  sol- 
dier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the   soldier — 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine 
The  guns  o'  the  enemy  wheel  into  line  ; 
Shoot  low  at   the   limbers   and   don't  mind  the 
shine, 

For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 
Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier — 


THE    YOUNG   BRITISH    SOLDIER.  47 

If   your    officer's   dead    and  the    sergeants  look 

white, 

Remember  it's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight ; 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight, 
An'  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 
Wait,  wait,  wait  like  a  soldier — 

When  you're  wounded  an'  left  on  Afghanistan's 

plains, 

An'   the  women  come   out  to  cut  up  your  re- 
mains, 

Just  roll  to  your  rifle  an'  blow  out  your  brains, 
An', go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier : 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  hof  the  Queen. 


48  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


SCREW-GUNS. 

SMOKIN'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the 

mornin'-cool, 
I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old 

brown  mule, 
With   seventy  gunners   be'ind   me,   an'   never  a 

beggar  forgets 
It's  only  the  pick  o'  the   Army  that  handles  the 

dear  little  pets— Tss  !     Tss  ! 

For   you    all  love    the    screw-guns — the 

screw-guns  they  all  love  you. 
So  when  we  call  round  with  a  few  guns,  o' 

course  you  will  know  what  to  do — 

hoo  !  hoo  ! 
Just  send  in  your  chief  an'  surrender — 

it's  worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs : 
You  can  go  where  you  please,  you  can  skid 

up  the  trees,  but  you  don't  get  away 

from  the  guns. 


SCREW-GUNS.  49 

They   send   us  along  where  the   roads  are,  but 

mostly  we  goes  where  they  ain't ; 
We'd  climb  up  the  side  of  a  sign-board  an'  trust 

to  the  stick  o'  the  paint ; 
We've  chivied  the   Naga  an'  Lushai,  we've  give 

the  Afreedeeman  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand,  we 

guns    that    are    built    in    two    bits — Tss  ! 

Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns— 

If  a  man  doesn't  work,  why,  we  drills  'im  'an 

teaches  'im  'ow  to  be'ave ; 
If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  we  kills   'im  'an 

rattles  'im  into  'is  grave. 
You've  got  to  stand  up  to  our  business  an'  spring 

without  snatchin'  or  fuss. 
D'  you  say  that  you  sweat  with  the  field-guns  ? 

By   God,  you  must   lather   with   us — Tss! 

Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 


50  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 

The    eagles  is  screamin'  around    us,  the  river's 

amoanin'  below, 
We're  clear  o'  the  pine  an'  the  oak-scrub,  we're 

out  on  the  rocks  an'  the  snow, 
An'  the   wind  is  as    thin    as    a   whip-lash  what 

carries  away  to  the  plains 
The     rattle     an'     stamp     o'     the    lead-mules — 

the     jinglety-jink     o'     the     chains  —  Tss ! 

Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

There's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin'  an* 
a  wheel  on  the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 

An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  us  as  straight  as 
a  beggar  can  spit ; 

With  the  sweat  runnin'  out  o'  your  shirt- 
sleeves an'  the  sun  off  the  snow  in  your 
face, 

An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to  hold  the 
old  gun  in  'er  place — Tss  !  Tss  ! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 


SCREW-GUNS.  51 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the 

mornin'-cool, 
I  climb  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old 

brown  mule. 
The  monkey  can  say  what   our   road  was — the 

wild-goat  'e  knows  where  we  passed. 
Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old    darlin's !     Out 

drag-ropes  !     With  shrapnel !     Hold  fast ! — 

Tss!  Tss! 

For   you    all   love    the    screw-guns — the 

screw-guns  they  all  love  you  ! 
So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns,  o' 

course  you   will  know  what  to  do — 

hoo  !  hoo ! 
Just  send  in  your  Chief   and  surrender — 

it's  worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs : 
You   may  hide   in  the  caves,   they'll  be 

only   your  graves,  but  you  don't  get 

away  from  the  guns ! 


52  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS. 


BELTS. 

THERE  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's  near  to 

Dublin  Quay, 

Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  cavalree ; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted  on  till  dark ; 
The  first  man  dropped   at   Harrison's,  the  last 
forninst  the  Park. 

For  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

one  for  you  !  " 
An'  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

done  for  yoru  !  " 
0  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  on  to  the  Park ! 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — the  regiments 

was  out, 

They  called  us  "  Delhi  Rebels,"  an'  we  answered 
"  Threes  about !  " 


BELTS.  53 

That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest — we  met 

them  good  an'  large, 
The  English  at  the  double  an'  the  Irish  at  the 

charge. 

Then  it  was  :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — an'  I  was  in 

it  too ; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'   then  the  belts 

went  whirraru  ; 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but  subsequint  the 

storm 
A  Freeman's  Journal  Supplemint  was  all  my 

uniform. 

0  it  was :  *  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — they  sent  the 

Polis  there, 
The  English  were  too  drunk  to  know,  the  Irish 

didn't  care ; 


54  BARRACK-BOOM    BALLADS. 

But  when  they  grew  impertinint  we  simultaneous 

rose, 
Till  half  o'  them  was   Liffey  mud  an'  half  was 

tatthered  clo'es. 

For  it  was :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  might  ha' 

raged  till  now, 
But  some  one  drew  his  side-arm  clear,  an'  nobody 

knew  how; 
'Twas  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped;  we 

saw  the  red  blood  run  : 
An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out  in 

fun. 

While  it  was :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — but  that  took 

off  the  shine, 
Wid  each  man  whishperin'  to  his  next :  "  'Twas 

never  work  o'  mine  !  " 


BELTS.  55 

We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down  the 

street  we  bore  him, 
The   poor    dumb    corpse    that  couldn't    see   the 

bhoys  were  sorry  for  him. 
When  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  isn't  over 

yet, 

For  half  of  us  are  under  guard  wid  punishmints 

to  get ; 

'Tis  all  a  mericle  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  lie ; 
There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — begod,  I  won- 
der why  ! 

But  it  was  "  Belts,   belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

one  for  you  !  " 
An'  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

done  for  you  !  " 
0  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park  ! 


DEPAKTMENTAL  DITTIES. 


GENERAL  SUMMARY. 

WE  are  very  slightly  changed 
From  the  semi-apes  who  ranged 

India's  prehistoric  clay ; 
Whoso  drew  the  longest  bow, 
Ran  his  brother  down,  you  know, 

As  we  run  men  down  to-day. 

"  Dowb,"  the  first  of  all  his  race, 
Met  the  Mammoth  face  to  face 

On  the  lake  or  in  the  cave, 
Stole  the  steadiest  canoe, 
Ate  the  quarry  others  slew, 

Died — and  took  the  finest  grave. 

When  they  scratched  the  reindeer-bone, 
Some  one  made  the  sketch  his  own, 

Filched  it  from  the  artist — then, 

59 


60  DEPARTMENTAL   DITTIES. 

Even  in  those  early  days, 
Won  a  simple  Viceroy's  praise 
Through  the  toil  of  other  men. 

Ere  they  hewed  the  Sphinx's  visage 
Favoritism  governed  kissage, 
Even  as  it  does  in  this  age. 

Who  shall  doubt  the  secret  hid 
Under  Cheops'  pyramid 
Was  that  the  contractor  did 

Cheops  out  of  several  millions  ? 
Or  that  Joseph's  sudden  rise 
To  Comptroller  of  Supplies 
Was  a  fraud  of  monstrous  size 

On  King  Pharaoh's  swart  Civilians  ? 

Thus,  the  artless  songs  I  sing 
Do  not  deal  with  anything 

New  or  never  said  before. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning, 
Is  to-day  official  sinning, 

And  shall  be  for  evermore. 


ARMY   HEADQUARTERS.  61 


ARMY  HEADQUARTERS. 

OLD  is  the  song  that  I  sing — 

Old  as  my  unpaid  bills — 
Old  as  the  chicken  that  kitmutgars  bring 

Men  at  dak-bungalows — old  as  the  Hills. 

AHASUEEUS  JENKINS  df  the  "  Operatic  Own  " 
Was  dowered  with  a  tenor  voice  of  super-S&utley 

tone. 
His  views   on  equitation  were,  perhaps,  a  trifle 

queer ; 
He  had  no  seat  worth  mentioning,  but  oh  !  he 

had  an  ear. 

He  clubbed  his  wretched  company  a  dozen  times 

a  day, 

He  used  to  quit  his  charger  in  a  parabolic  way, 
His   method    of    saluting   was   the   joy    of    all 

beholders, 
But    Ahasuerus   Jenkins  had   a  head  upon  his 

shoulders. 


62  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

He  took  two  months  to  Simla  when  the  year  was 

at  the  spring, 

And  underneath  the  deodars  eternally  did  sing. 
He  warbled  like  a  bulbul,  but  particularly  at 
Cornelia  Agrippina  who  was  musical  and  fat. 

She  controlled  a  humble  husband,  who,  in  turn, 

controlled  a  Dept., 
Where  Cornelia  Agrippina's  human  singing-birds 

were  kept 

From  April  to  October  on  a  plump  retaining  fee, 
Supplied,  of  course,  per  mensem,  by  the  Indian 

Treasury. 
Cornelia  used  to  sing  with  him,  and  Jenkins  used 

to  play ; 
He  praised   unblushingly  her  notes,  for  he  was 

false  as  they  : 
So  when  the  winds  of  April  turned  the  budding 

roses  brown, 
Cornelia  told  her  husband  : — "  Tom,  you  mustn't 

send  him  down." 


ARMY    HEADQUARTERS.  63 

They  haled  him  from  his  regiment  which  didn't 

much  regret  him ; 
They  found  for  him  an  office-stool,  and  on  that 

stool  they  set  him, 
To   play   with   maps    and  catalogues  three  idle 

hours  a  day, 
And  draw  his  plump  retaining  fee — which  means 

his  double  pay. 

Now,  ever  after  dinner,  when  the  coffee-cups  are 

brought, 

Ahasuerus  waileth  o'er  the  grand  pianoforte  ; 
And,    thanks    to    fair    Cornelia,    his    fame  hath 

waxen  great, 
And  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  is  a  power  in  the  State. 


64  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN 
INK. 

This  ditty  is  a  string  of  lies. 

But— how  the  deuce  did  Gubbins  rise  ? 

POTIPHAR  GUBBINS,  C.  E., 
Stands  at  the  top  of  the  tree ; 
And  I  muse  in  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that  led 
To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  Me  ; 
Each  bridge   that  he  makes  he  either  buckles  or 
breaks, 

And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee  ; 

And  I  can't  understand  why  you  gave   him  your 
hand, 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 


STUDY    OF    AN    ELEVATION,    IN    INDIAN    INK.       65 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be  ; 
For  They  bow  and  They  smile  in  an  affable  style 
Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 

Of  a  highly-paid  post  which  is  claimed  by  a  host 
Of  seniors — including  Me. 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he, 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well, 
Commonplace  Potiphar  G.  ? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  what  Potiphar  is, 

Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me  ? 

5 


66  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE. 

This  is  the  reason  why  Rustum  Beg, 

Rajah  of  Kolazai, 
Drinketh  the  "  simpkin  "  and  brandy  peg, 

Maketh  the  money  to  fly, 
Vexeth  a  Government,  tender  and  kind, 
Also— but  this  is  a  detail— blind. 

RUSTUM   BEG    of    Kolazai — slightly    backward 

native  state — 

Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I., — so  began  to  sanitate. 
Built  a  Jail  and  Hospital — nearly  built  a   City 

drain — 
Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their  ruler 

was  insane. 

Strange  departures  made  he  then — yea.  Depart- 
ments stranger  still, 

Half  a  dozen  Englishmen  helped  the  Rajah  with 
a  will, 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    FOREIGN    OFFICE.          67 

Talked    of   noble  aims    and  high,   hinted    of   a 

future  fine 
For  the  state  of  Kolazai,  on  a  strictly  Western  line. 

Rajah   Rustum  held   his  peace  ;  lowered    octroi 

dues  a  half ; 

Organized  a  State  Police  ;  purified  the  Civil  Staff ; 
Settled  cess  and  tax  afresh  in  a  very  liberal  way ; 
Cut  temptations  of  the  flesh — also  cut  the 

Bukhshi's  pay ; 

Roused  his  Secretariat  to  a  fine  Mahratta  fury, 

By  a  Hookum  hinting  at  supervision  of  dasturi  ; 

Turned  the  State  of  Kolazai  very  nearly  upside- 
down  ; 

When  the  end  of  May  was  nigh,  waited  his 
achievement  crown. 

Then  the  Birthday  Honors  came.  Sad  to  state 
and  sad  to  see, 

Stood  against  the  Rajah's  name  nothing  more 
than  C.  I.  E. ! 


68  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Things  were  lively  for  a  week  in   the  State  of 

Kolazai. 
Even  now  the  people  speak  of  that  time  regret- 

fully. 

How  he  disendowed  the  Jail — stopped  at  once 
the  City  drain ; 

Turned  to  beauty  fair  and  frail — got  his  senses 
back  again ; 

Double  taxes,  cesses,  all ;  cleared  away  each  new- 
built  thana  ; 

Turned  the  two-lakh  Hospital  into  a  superb 
Zenana  ; 

Heaped  upon  the  Bukhshi  Sahib  wealth  and 
honors  manifold ; 

Clad  himself  in  Eastern  garb — squeezed  his  peo- 
ple as  of  old. 

Happy,  happy  Kolazai !     Never  more  will  Rustum 


Play  to  catch  the  Viceroy's  eye.     He  prefers  the 
"  simpkin  "  peg. 


THE   STORY    OF   URIAH.  69 


THE  STORY  OF  URIAH. 

"  Now  there  were  two  men  in  one  city  ;  the  one  rich  and 
the  other  poor." 

JACK  BARRETT  went  to  Quetta 

Because  they  told  him  to. 
He  left  his  wife  at  Simla 

On  three-fourths  his  monthly  screw  : 
Jack  Barrett  died  at  Quetta 

Ere  the  next  month's  pay  he  drew. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta. 

9 

He  didn't  understand 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  pleasant  mountain-land : 
The  season  was  September, 

And  it  killed  him  out  of  hand. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta, 
And  there  gave  up  the  ghost, 


70  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Attempting  two  men's  duty 
In  that  very  healthy  post ; 

And  Mrs.  Barrett  mourned  for  him 
Five  lively  months  at  most. 

Jack  Barrett's  bones  at  Quetta 

Enjoy  profound  repose ; 
But  I  shouldn't  be  astonished 

If  now  his  spirit  knows 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  Himalayan  snows. 

And,  when  the  Last  Great  Bugle  Call 

Adown  the  Hurnai  throbs, 
When  the  last  grim  joke  is  entered 

In  the  big  black  Book  of  Jobs, 
And  Quetta  graveyards  give  again 

Their  victims  to  the  air, 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  man 

Who  sent  Jack  Barrett  there. 


THE    POST   THAT   FITTED.  71 


THE  POST  THAT  FITTED. 

Though  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love, 

This  ditty  explains 
No  tangle's  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve 

If  the  Lover  has  brains. 

ERE  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward,  Sleary  was 

engaged  to  marry 
An  attractive  girl  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  called 

"  my  little  Carrie." 
Sleary's  pay  was  very  modest ;  Sleary   was  the 

other  way. 
Who  can  cook  a  two-plate  dinner  on  eight  paltry 

dibs  a  day  ? 

Long  he  pondered  o'er  the  question  in  his  scantly 

furnished  quarters — 
Then  proposed  to  Minnie  Boffkin,  eldest  of  Judge 

Boffkin's  daughters. 


72  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Certainly  an  impecunious   Subaltern   was  not  a 

catch, 
But  the  B  off  kins  knew  that  Minnie  mightn't  make 

another  match. 

So  they  recognized  the  business,  and,  to  feed  and 

clothe  the  bride, 
Got  him  made  a  Something  Something  somewhere 

on  the  Bombay  side. 
Anyhow,  the  billet   carried  pay  enough  for  him 

to  marry — 
As  the  artless  Sleary  put  it: — uJust  the  thing 

for  me  and  Carrie." 

Did  he,  therefore,  jilt  Miss  B  off  kin — impulse  of 

a  baser  mind  ? 

No !    He  started  epileptic  fits  of  an  appalling  kind. 
(Of  his  modus  operandi  only  this  much  I  could 

gather  : — 
"  Pears'  shaving  sticks  will  give  you  little  taste 

and  lots  of  lather.") 


THE    POST    THAT    FITTED.  73 

Frequently  in  public  places  his  affliction  used  to 

smite 
Sleary    with    distressing    vigor — always    in    the 

B  off  kins'  sight. 
Ere  a  week  was  over  Minnie  weepingly  returned 

his  ring, 
Told  him  his  "  unhappy  weakness  "  stopped  all 

thought  of  marrying. 

Sleary  bore  the    information  with    a    chastened 

holy  joy,— 

Epileptic  fits  don't  matter  in  Political  employ, — 
Wired    three    short  words    to    Carrie — took   his 

ticket,  packed  his  kit — 
Bade  farewell   to    Minnie    Boffkin  in    one   last, 

long,  lingering  fit. 

Four  weeks  later,  Carrie  Sleary  read — and  laughed 

until  she  wept — 
Mrs.  Boffkin's  warning  letter   on  the  "  wretched 

epilept." 


74  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Year  by  year,  in   pious  patience,  vengeful  Mrs. 

Boffkin  sits 
Waiting  for  the  Sleary  babies  to  develop  Sleary's 

fits. 


PUBLIC    WASTE.  75 


PUBLIC  WASTE. 

Walpole  talks  of  "  a  man  and  his  price," 

List  to  a  ditty  queer — 
The  sale  of  a  Deputy- Acting-Vice- 

Resident-Engineer, 
Bought  like  a  bullock,  hoof  and  hide, 
By  the  Little  Tin  Gods  on  the  Mountain  Side. 

BY  the  laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  written  in 
letters  of  brass  " 

That  only  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  can  manage 
the  Railways  of  State, 

Because  of  the  gold  on  his  breeks,  and  the  sub- 
jects wherein  he  must  pass ; 

Because  in  all  matters  that  deal  not  with  Rail- 
ways his  knowledge  is  great. 

Now  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  had  labored  from 

boyhood  to  eld 
On  the  Lines  of  the  East  and  the  West,  and  eke 

of  the  North  and  South  ; 


76  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Many  Lines  had  lie  built  and  surveyed — impor- 
tant the  posts  which  he  held ; 

And  the  Lords  of  the  Iron  Horse  were  dumb 
when  he  opened  his  mouth. 

Black  as  the  raven  his  garb,   and  his  heresies 

jettier  still 
Hinting  that  Railways  required  lifetimes  of  study 

and  knowledge ; 
Never  clanked  sword  by  his  side — Vauban  he 

knew  not,  nor  drill — 
Nor  was  his  name  on  the  list  of  the  men  who  had 

passed  through  the  "  College." 

Wherefore   the   Little    Tin  Gods    harried   their 

little  tin  souls, 
Seeing  he  came  not  from  Chatham,  jingled  no 

spurs  at  his  heels, 
Knowing  that,  nevertheless,  was  he  first  on  the 

Government  rolls 
For  the  billet  of  "  Railway  Instructor  to  Little 

Tin  Gods  on  Wheels." 


PUBLIC    WASTE.  77 

Letters  not  seldom  they  wrote  him,  "  having  the 

honor  to  state/' 
It  would  be  better  for  all  men  if  he  were  laid  on 

the  shelf  : 
Much   would  accrue  to  his  bank-book,  and  he 

consented  to  wait 
Until  the  Little  Tin  Gods  built  him  a  berth  for 

himself. 

"  Special,  well  paid,  and  exempt  from  the  Law  of 

the  Fifty  and  Five, 
Even   to   Ninety   and   Nine " — these    were    the 

terms  of  the  pact : 
Thus  did  the  Little   Tin  Gods  (long  may  Their 

Highnesses  thrive  !) 
Silence    his    mouth  with    rupees,  keeping    their 

Circle  intact ; 

Appointing  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  who  man- 
aged the  Bhamo  State  Line, 

(The  which  was  one  mile  and  one  furlong — a 
guaranteed  twenty-inch  gauge). 


78  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

So  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  consented  his  claims  to 

resign, 
And    died,   on   four  thousand   a  month,  in    the 

ninetieth  year  of  his  age. 


DELILAH.  79 


DELILAH. 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead  and  done, 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  depraved  Ulysses  Gunne. 

DELILAH  ABERYSWITH  was  a  lady — not  too 
young— 

With  a  perfect  taste  in  dresses,  and  a  badly- 
bitted  tongue, 

With  a  thirst  for  information,  and  a  greater 
thirst  for  praise, 

And  a  little  house  in  Simla,  in  the  Prehistoric 
Days. 

By  reason   of  her  marriage  to  a  gentleman  in 

power, 
Delilah  was  acquainted  with  the  gossip   of  the 

hour ; 

And  many  little  secrets,  of  a  half-official  kind, 
Were   whispered  to  Delilah,  and  she  bore  them 

all  in  mind. 


80  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

She    patronized     extensively     a     man;    Ulysses 

Gunne, 
Whose  mode  of  earning  money  was  a  low  and 

shameful  one. 
He  wrote  for  divers  papers,  which,  as  everybody 

knows, 
Is  worse  than  serving  in  a  shop  or  scaring  off 

the  crows. 


He  praised  her   "  queenly   beauty  "    first  ;    and^ 

later  on,  he  hinted 
At  the  "  vastness  of  her  intellect  "  with  compli- 

ment unstinted. 
He  went  with  her  a-riding,  and  his  love  for  her 

was  such 
That  he  lent  her  all  his  horses,  and  —  she  galled 

them  very  much. 

One  day,  THEY  brewed  a  secret  of  a  fine  financial 

sort; 
It   related    to  Appointments,  to  a   Man  and  a 

Report. 


DELILAH.  81 

'Twas  almost  worth  the  keeping  (only  seven  peo- 
ple knew  it), 

And  Gunne  rose  up  to  seek  the  truth  and 
patiently  ensue  it. 

It  was  a  Viceroy's  Secret,  but — perhaps  the  wrine 

was  red — 
Perhaps  an  Aged  Councilor  had  lost  his  aged 

head — 
Perhaps    Delilah's   eyes  were    bright — Delilah's 

whispers  sweet 
The  Aged  Member  told  her  what  'twere  treason 

to  repeat. 

Ulysses  went   a-riding,  and  they  talked   of  love 

and  flowers  ; 
Ulysses  went  a-calling,  and  he  called  for  several 

hours  ; 
Ulysses  went  a-waltzing,  and  Delilah  helped  him 

dance — 
Ulysses   let  the  waltzes  go,  and  waited  for  his 

chance. 
6 


82  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

The  summer  sun  was  setting,  and  the  summer  air 
was  still, 

The  couple  went  a-walking  in  the  shade  of  Sum- 
mer Hill, 

The  wasteful  sunset  faded  out  in  turkis-green  and 
gold, 

Ulysses  pleaded  softly,  and  .  .  .  that  bad  Delilah 
told! 

Next  morn,  a  startled  Empire  learnt  the  all- 
important  news  ; 

Next  week,  the  Aged  Councilor  was  shaking  in 
his  shoes ; 

Next  month,  I  met  Delilah,  and  she  did  not  show 
the  least 

Hesitation  in  affirming  that  Ulysses  was  a 
"  beast." 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are 

dead  and  done, 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  most  mean   Ulysses 

Gunne ! 


WHAT    HAPPENED.  83 


WHAT  HAPPENED. 

HURREE  CHUKDER  MOOKERJEE,   pride  of  Bow 

Bazar, 

Owner  of  a  native  press,  "  Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited  on  the  Government  with  a  claim  to  wear 
Sabers  by  the  bucketful,  rifles  by  the  pair. 

Then  the  Indian  Government  winked  a  wicked 

wink, 
Said  to  Chunder  Mookerjee  :   "  Stick  to  pen  and 

ink, 

They  are  safer  implements ;  but,  if  you  insist, 
We  will   let   you    carry  arms    wheresoe'er   you 

list." 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee  sought  the  gunsmith 

and 
Bought  the  tuber  of  Lancaster,  Ballard,  Dean, 

and  Bland, 


84  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Bought  a  shiny  bowie-knife,  bought  a  town-made 

sword. 
Jingled    like    a    carriage-horse    when    he    went 

abroad. 

But   the   Indian    Government,    always   keen    to 

V. 

please, 

Also  gave  permission  to  horrid  men  like  these — 
Yar    Mahommed    Yusufzai,    down    to    kill    or 

steal, 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer,  Tantia  the  Bhil. 

Killar  Khan  the   Marri  chief,  Jowar  Singh  the 

Sikh, 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat,  Abdul  Huq  Rafiq — 
He  was  a  Wahabi ;  last,  little  Boh  Hla-oo 
Took  advantage  of  the  act — took  a  Snider  too. 

They  were   unenlightened  men,    Ballard    knew 

them  not, 
They  procured  their  swords  and  guns  chiefly  on 

the  spot, 


WHAT    HAPPENED.  85 

And  the  lore  of  centuries,  plus  a  hundred  fights, 
Made  them  slow  to  disregard  one  another's  rights. 

With  a  unanimity  dear  to  patriot  hearts 

All  those  hairy  gentlemen  out  of  foreign  parts 

Said :  "  The  good  old  days  are  back — let  us  go 

to  war  !  " 
Swaggered  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  into 

Bow  Bazar. 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat  found  a  hide-bound 

flail, 
Chimbu    Singh    from  Bikaneer   oiled    his  Tonk 

jezail, 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai  spat  and  grinned  with 

glee 
As  he  ground  the  butcher-knife  of  the  Khyberee. 

Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh  procured  saber,  quoit,  and 

mace, 
Abdul  Huq,  Wahabi,  took  the  dagger  from  its 

place, 


86  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

While  amid  the  jungle-grass  danced  and  grinned 

and  jabbered 
Little  Boh  Hla-oo  and  cleared  the  dah-blade  from 

the  scabbard. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Soothly,  who  can 

say? 

Yar  Mahommed  only  grins  in  a  nasty  way, 
Jowar  Singh  is  reticent,  Chimbu  Singh  is  mute, 
But  the  belts  of  them  all  simply  bulge  with  loot. 

What  became  of  Ballard's  guns  ?     Afghans  black 

and  grubby 
Sell  them  for  their  silver  weight  to  the  men  of 

Pubbi ; 
And  the   shiny  bowie-knife  and  the   town-made 

sword  are 
Hanging  in  a  Marri  camp  just  across  the  Border. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Ask  Mahommed 

Yar 
Prodding  Siva's  sacred  bull  down  the  Bow  Bazar. 


WHAT    HAPPENED.  87 

Speak   to  placid  Nubbee  Baksh — question  land 

and  sea — 
Ask  the  Indian  Congress  men — only  don't  ask 

me  ! 


88  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 


PINK  DOMINOES. 

"  They  are  fools  who  kiss  and  tell " 
Wisely  has  the  poet  sung. 
Man  may  hold  all  sorts  of  posts 
If  he'll  only  hold  his  tongue. 

JENNY  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fancy  Ball; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  nothing  to  you 

Or  any  one  else  at  all. 

Jenny  would  go  in  a  domino — 

Pretty  and  pink  but  warm ; 
While  I  attended,  clad  in  a  splendid 

Austrian  uniform. 

Now  we  had  arranged,  through  notes  exchanged 

Early  that  afternoon, 
At  Number  Four  to  waltz  no  more, 

But  to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  spoon. 


PINK    DOMINOES.  89 

(I  wish  you  to  see  that  Jenny  and  Me 

Had  barely  exchanged  our  troth  ; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  strictly  due 

By,  from,  and  between  us  both.) 

When  Three  was  over,  an  eager  lover, 

I  fled  to  the  gloom  outside  ; 
And  a  Domino  came  out  also 

Whom  I  took  for  my  future  bride. 

That  is  to  say,  in  a  casual  way, 

I  slipped  my  arm  around  her  ; 
With  a  kiss  or  two  (which  is  nothing  to  you), 

And  ready  to  kiss  I  found  her. 

She  turned  her  head,  and  the  name  she  said 
Was  certainly  not  my  own  ; 


But  ere  I  could  speak,  with  a  smothered  shriek 
She  fled  and  left  me  alone. 


Then  Jenny  came,  and  I  saw  with  shame 
She'd  doffed  her  domino  ; 


90  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

And  I  had  embraced  an  alien  waist — 
But  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

Next  morn  I  knew  that  there  were  two 

Dominoes  pink,  and  one 
Had  cloaked  the  spouse  of  Sir  Julian  Vouse, 

Our  big  political  gun. 

Sir  J.  was  old,  and  her  hair  was  gold, 

And  her  eye  was  a  blue  cerulean ; 
And  the   name  she   said  when   she    turned   her 
head 

Was  not  in  the  least  like  "  Julian." 


Now  wasn't  it  nice,  when  want  of  pice    J^T^f c 

•  •  ..    '  l 

Forbade  us  twain  to  marry, 

That  old  Sir  J.,  in  the  kindest  way, 
Made  me  his  Secretary  ? 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE.       91 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE. 

Shun — shun  the  Bowl !    That  fatal,  facile  drink 
Has  ruined  many  geese  who  dipped  their  quills  in't, 

Bribe,  murder,  marry,  but  steer  clear  of  Ink 
Save  when  you  write  receipts  for  paid-up  bills  in't. 

There  may  be  silver  in  the  "  blue-black  " — all 

I  know  of  is  the  iron  and  the  gall. 

BOANERGES  BLITZEN,  servant  of  the  Queen, 
Is  a  dismal  failure — is  a  Might-have-been. 
In  a  luckless  moment  he  discovered  men 
Rise  to  high  position  through  a  ready  pen. 

Boanerges  Blitzen  argued,  therefore  :  "  I 
With  the  selfsame  weapon  can  attain  as  high." 
Only  he  did  not  possess,  when  he  made  the  trial, 
Wicked  wit  of  C-lv-n,  irony  of  L — 1. 

(Men  who   spar  with  Government  need,  to  back 

their  blows, 
Something  more  than  ordinary  journalistic  prose.) 


92  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  bright, 
Till  an  Indian  paper  found  that  he  could  write  : 
Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  dark, 
When  the  wretched  Blitzen  wrote  to   make   his 
mark. 

Certainly  he  scored  it,  bold  and  black  and  firm, 
In  that  Indian  paper — made  his  seniors  squirm, 
Quoted  office  scandals,  wrote  the  tactless  truth  — 
Was  there  ever  known  a  more  misguided  youth  ? 

When  the  Rag  he  wrote  for  praised  his  plucky 

game, 

Boanerges  Blitzen  felt  that  this  was  Fame  : 
When  the  men  he  wrote  of  shook  their  heads 

and  swore, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  only  wrote  the  more. 

Posed  as  Young  Ithuriel,  resolute  and  grim, 
Till  he  found  promotion  didn't  come  to  him  ; 
Till  he  found  that  reprimands  weekly  were  his  lot, 
And  his  many  Districts  curiously  hot. 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE.       93 

Till  he  found  his  furlough  strangely  hard  to  win, 

Boanerges  Blitzen  didn't  care  a  pin  : 

Then    it    seemed    to    dawn    on    him    something 

wasn't  right — 
Boanerges  Blitzen  put  it  down  to  "  spite." 

Languished  in  a  District  desolate  and  dry ; 
Watched  the  Local  Government  yearly  pass  him 

by; 

Wondered  where  the  hitch  was ;  called  it  most 
unfair. 

That  was  seven  years  ago — and  he  still  is  there. 


94  DEPARTMENTAL   DITTIES. 


MUNICIPAL. 

"  Why  is  my  District  death-rate  low?" 

Said  Binks  of  Hezabad. 
"Wells,  drains,  and  sewage-outfalls  are 

My  own  peculiar  fad. 
I  learnt  a  lesson  once.     It  ran 
"  Thus,"  quoth  that  most  veracious  man  : — 

IT  was  an  August  evening,  and,  in  snowy  gar- 
ments clad, 

I  paid  a  round  of  visits  in  the  lines  of  Heza- 
bad; 

When,  presently,  my  Waler  saw,  and  did  not  like 
at  all, 

A  Commissariat  elephant  careering  down  the  Mall. 

I  couldn't  see  the  driver,  and   across  my  mind  it 

rushed 
That  that  Commissariat   elephant  had  ^suddenly 

gone  musth. 


MUNICIPAL.  95 

I  didn't  care  to  meet  him,  and  I  couldn't  well  get 

down, 
So  I  let  the  Waler  have  it,  and  we  headed  for  the 

town. 

The  buggy  was  a  new  one,  and,  praise  Dykes,  it 
stood  the  strain, 

Till  the  Waler  jumped  a  bullock  just  above  the 
City  Drain  ; 

And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  a  hurricane 
o£  squeals, 

And  the  creature  making  toothpicks  of  my  five- 
foot  patent  wheels. 

He  seemed  to  want  the  owner,  so  I  fled,  distraught 
with  fear, 

To  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  while  he  snorted 
in  my  ear — 

Reached  the  four-foot  drain-head  safely,  and,  in 
darkness  and  despair, 

Pelt  the  brute's  proboscis  fingering  my  terror- 
stiffened  hair. 


96  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

Heard  it  trumpet  on  my  shoulder — tried  to  crawl 
a  little  higher — 

Found  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  blocked, 
some  eight  feet  up,  with  mire ; 

And,  for  twenty  reeking  minutes,  Sir,  my  very 
marrow  froze, 

While  the  trunk  was  feeling  blindly  for  a  pur- 
chase on  my  toes ! 

It   missed   me    by  a  fraction,  but  my   hair  was 

turning  gray 
Before  they  called  the  drivers    up  and  dragged 

the  brute  away. 
Then  I   sought  the  City  Elders,  and  my  words 

were  very  plain. 
They  flushed  that  four-foot   drain-head,  and — it 

never  choked  again. 

You  may    hold    with    surface-drainage,  and  the 

sun-for-garbage  cure, 
Till  you've  been  a  periwinkle  shrinking  coyly  up 

a  sewer. 


MUNICIPAL.  97 

/  believe  in  well-flushed  culverts  .... 

This  is  why  the  death-rate's  small; 
And,  if    you    don't   believe  me,  get   shikarred 
yourself.     That's  all. 

7 


98  DEPARTMENTAL   DITTIES. 


A  CODE  OF  MORALS. 

Lest  you  should  think  this  story  true, 
I  merely  mention  I 
Evolved  it  lately.     Tis  a  most 
Unmitigated  misstatement. 

Now  Jones  had  left  his    new-wed  bride  to  keep 

his  house  in  order. 
And  hied  away  to  the    Hurrum  Hills  above  the 

Afghan  border, 
To  sit  on  a  rock  with  a    heliograph ;  but  ere  he 

left  he  taught 
His  wife  the  working   of  the  Code  that  sets  the 

miles  at  naught. 

And  Love  had  made  him  very  sage,    as  Nature 

made  her  fair ; 
So  Cupid  and  Apollo  linked,  per  heliograph,  the 

pair. 


A    CODE    OF    MORALS.  99 

At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed  her 

counsel  wise  — 
At  e'en   the    dying    sunset   bore    her   husband's 

homilies. 

He  warned  her  'gainst  seductive  youths  in  scarlet 

clad  and  gold, 
As  much  as  'gainst  the  blandishments  paternal  of 

the  old  ; 
But  kept  his  gravest  warnings  for   (hereby  the 

ditty  hangs) 
That  snowy-haired  Lothario,  Lieutenant-General 

Bangs. 

'Twas  General  Bangs,  with  Aide  and  Staff,  that 

tittupped  on  the  way, 
When  they  beheld  a  heliograph  tempestuously  at 


They  thought  of  Border  risings,  and  of  stations 

sacked  and  burnt  — 
So  stopped  to  take  the  message  down  —  and  this 

is  what  they  learnt  :  — 


100  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

"  Dash   dot   dot,   dot,  dot  dash,   dot  dash  dot  " 

twice.     The  General  swore. 
"  Was  ever  General   Officer  addressed  as  '  dear  ' 

before  ? 
"< My  Love/  i'  faith!     <My  Duck/  Gadzooks ! 

'  My  darling  popsy-wop  !  ' 
Spirit  of  great  Lord  Wolseley,  who  is  on  that 

mountain  top  ?  " 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute  ;  the  gilded 
Staff  were  still, 

As,  dumb  with  pent-up  mirth,  they  booked  that 
message  from  the  hill ; 

For,  clear  as  summer's  lightning  flare,  the  hus- 
band's warning  ran  : — 

"  Don't  dance  or  ride  with  General  Bangs — a 
most  immoral  man." 

(At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he   flashed 

her  counsel  wise — 
But,  howsoever  Love  be  blind,  the  world  at  large 

hath  eyes.) 


A    CODE    6F  ,M0R4J^.'  ;  101, 

With  damnatory  dot  and   dash  he   heliographed 

his  wife 
Some  interesting  details  of  the  General's  private 

life. 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute ;  the  shining 

Staff  were  still, 
And  red  and  ever  redder    grew  the    General's 

shaven  gill. 
And  this   is  what  he   said  at  last   (his  feelings 

matter  not) : — 
"  I    think    we've    tapped    a    private    line. '   Hi ! 

Threes  about  there  !     Trot !  " 

All  honor  unto  Bangs,  for  ne'er  did  Jones  there- 
after know 

By  word  or  act  official  who  read  off  that  helio. ; 

But  the  tale  is  on  the  Frontier,  and  from  Michni 
to  Moolfcm 

They  know  the  worthy  General  as  "  that  most 
immoral  man." 


DITTIES. 


THE  LAST  DEPARTMENT. 

Twelve  hundred  million  men  are  spread 

About  this  Earth,  and  I  and  You 
Wonder,  when  You  and  I  are  dead, 

What  will  those  luckless  millions  do  ? 

"  NONE  whole  or  clean/'  we  cry,  "  or  free  from 

stain 
Of  favor."     Wait  awhile,  till  we  attain 

The  Last  Department,  where  nor  fraud  nor  fools, 
Nor  grade  nor  greed,  shall  trouble  us  again. 

Fear,  Favor,  or  Affection — what  are  these 
To  the  grim  Head  who  claims  our  services? 

I  never  knew  a  wife  or  interest  yet 
Delay  that  pukka  step,  miscalled  "  decease  ;  " 

When  leave,  long  over-due,  none  can  deny ; 
When  idleness  of  all  Eternity 

Becomes  our  furlough,  and  the  marigold 
Our  thriftless,  bullion-minting  Treasury. 


THE    LAST    DEPARTMENT.  103 

Transferred  to  the  Eternal  Settlement, 
Each  in  his  strait,  wood-scantled  office  pent, 

No  longer  Brown  reverses  Smith's  appeals, 
Or  Jones  records  his  Minute  of  Dissent. 

And  One,  long  since  a  pillar  of  the  Court, 
As  mud  between  the  beams  thereof  is  wrought ; 
And  One   who   wrote  on  phosphates  for  the 

crops. 
Is  subject-matter  of  his  own  Report. 

(These  be  the  glorious  ends  whereto  we  pass — 
Let  Him  who  Is,  go  call  on  Him  who  Was ; 
And    He    shall  .  see   the    mallie    steals   the 

slab 
For  currie-grJnder,  and  for  goats  the  grass.) 

A  breath  of  wind,  a  Border  bullet's  flight 
A  draught  of  water,  or  a  horse's  fright — 

The  droning  of  the  fat  Sheristadar 
Ceases,  the  punkah  stops,  and  falls  the  night 


104  DEPARTMENTAL    DITTIES. 

For  you  or  Me.     Do  those  who  live  decline 
The  step  that  offers,  or  their  work  resign  ? 
Trust  me.  To-day's  Most  Indispensables, 
Five  hundred  men  can  take  your  place  or  mine. 


OTHER  VERSES. 


TO  THE  UNKNOWN  GODDESS. 

WILL  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your  beauty ; 

my  soul  going  out  from  afar  ? 
Shall  I  fall  to  your   hand   as   a  victim  of  crafty 

and  cautious  shikar  ? 

Have  I  met  you  and  passed  you  already,  unknow- 
ing, unthinking  and  blind  ? 

Shall  I  meet  you  next  session  at  Simla,  0  sweetest 
and  best  of  your  kind  ? 

Does  the  P.  and  0.  bear  yon  to  me-ward,  or,  clad 

in  sh^rt  frocks  in  the  West, 
Are  you  growing  the  charms  that  shall   capture 

and  torture  the  heart  in  my  breast  ? 

Will  you  stay  in  the  Plains  till  September — my 

passion  as  warm  as  the  day  ? 
Will  you  bring  me  to  book  on  the  Mountains,  or 

where  the  thermantidotes  play  ? 

107 


108  OTHER    VERSES. 

When  the  light   of  your  eyes  shall  make  pallid 

the  mean  lesser  lights  I  pursue, 
And  the  charm  of  your   presence   shall  lure  me 

from  love  of  the  gay  "  thirteen-two  ;  " 


When  the  peg  and  the  pig-skin  shall  please  not ; 
when  I  buy  me  Calcutta-built  clothes ; 

When  I  quit  the  Delight  of  Wild  Asses ;  for- 
swearing the  swearing  of  oaths  ; 


As  a  deer  to  the  hand  of  the  hunter  when  I  turn 

'mid  the  gibes  of  my  friends  ; 
When  the  days    of  my  freedom  are  numbered, 

and  the  life  of  the  bachelor  ends. 


Ah  Goddess  !  child,  spinster,  or  widow — as  of  old 

on  Mars  Hill  when  they  raised  • 
To  the  God  that  they  knew  not  an  altar — so  I,  a 

young  Pagan,  have  praised 


TO  THE  UNKNOWN  GODDESS.       109 

The  Goddess   I  know   not   nor  worship ;  yet,  if 

half  that  men  tell  me  be  true, 
You  will  come  in  the  future,  and  therefore  these 

verses  are  written  to  you. 


110  OTHER   VERSES. 


THE  RUPAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KAL'VIN. 

[Allowing  for  the  difierence  'twixt  prose  and   rhymed  exagger- 
ation,  this  ought  to  reproduce  the  sense   of  what  Sir  A told 

the  nation  some  time  ago,  when  the  Government  struck  from  our 
incomes  two  per  cent.] 

Now  the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's  Debt, 
The  Thoughtful  Fisher  casteth  wide  his  Net ; 
So  I  with  begging  Dish  and  ready  Tongue 
Assail  all  Men  for  all  that  I  can  get. 

Imports  indeed  are  gone  with  all  their  Dues — 
Lo  !  Salt  a  Lever  that  I  dare  not  use, 

Nor  may  I  ask  the  Tillers  in  Bengal — 
Surely  my  Kith  and  Kin  will  not  refuse  ! 

Pay — and  I  promise  by  the  Dust  of  Spring, 
Retrenchment.     If  my  promises  can  bring 

Comfort,  Ye  have  Them  now  a  thousand-fold — 
By  Allah  !  I  will  promise  Anything  ! 


THE    RUPAIYAT    OF    OMAR    KAI/VIN.         Ill 

Indeed,  indeed.  Retrenchment  oft  before 
I  swore — but  did  I  mean  it  when  I  swore  ? 

And   then,    and    then,   We    wandered   to  the 

Hills, 
And  so  the  Little  Less  became  Much  More. 

Whether  at  Boileaugunge  or  Babylon, 

I  know  not  how  the  wretched  Thing  is  done, 

The  Items  of  Receipt  grow  surely  small ; 
The  Items  of  Expense  mount  one  by  one. 

I  cannot  help  it.     What  have  I  to  do 
With  One  and  Five,  or  Four,  or  Three,  or  Two  ? 
Let  Scribes  spit  Blood  and  Sulphur  as  they 

please, 
Or  Statemen  call  me  foolish — Heed  not  you. 

Behold,  I  promise — Anything  You  will. 
Behold,  I  greet  you  with  an  empty  Till — 

Ah  !  Fellow-Sinners,  of  your  Charity 
Seek  not  the  Reason  of  the  Dearth,  but  fill. 


112  OTHER    VERSES. 

For  if  I  sinned  and  fell,  where  lies  the  Gain 

Of    Knowledge?      Would  it   ease  you   of   your 

Pain 

To  know  the  tangled  Threads  of  Revenue, 
I  ra^sael  deeper  in  a  hopeless  Skein  ? 

"Who  hath  not  Prudence  " — what  was  it  I  said, 
Of   Her    who    paints  Her    Eyes    and   tires    Her 

Head, 

And  gibes  and  mocks  the  People  in  the  Street, 
And  fawns  upon  them  for  Her  thriftless  Bread  ? 

Accursed  is  She  of  Eve's  daughters — She 
Hath  cast  off  Prudence,  and  Her  End  shall  be 
Destruction   .  .  .  Brethren,   of   your    Bounty 

grant 
Some  portion  of  your  daily  Bread  to  Me. 


LA    NUIT    BLANCHE.  113 


LA  NUIT  BLANCHE. 

A  Much-Discerning  Public  hold 
The  Singer  generally  sings 
Of  personal  and  private  things, 

And  prints  and  sells  his  past  for  gold. 

Whatever  I  may  here  disclaim, 
The  very  clever  folk  I  sing  to 
Will  most  indubitably  cling  to 

Their  pet  delusion,  just  the  same. 

I  HAD  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 

And  I  staggered  to  my  rest, 
Tari  Devi  softly  shaking 

From  the  Cart  Road  to  the  crest. 
I  had  seen  the  spurs  of  Jakko 

Heave  and  quiver,  swell  and  sink. 
Was  it  Earthquake  or  tobacco, 

Day  of  Doom  or  Night  of  Drink  ? 

In  the  full,  fresh,  fragrant  morning 
I  observed  a  camel  crawl. 

Laws  of  gravitation  scorning, 
On  the  ceiling  and  the  wall ; 


114  OTHER    VERSES. 

Then  I  watched  a  fender  walking, 
And  I  heard  gray  leeches  sing, 

And  a  red-hot  monkey  talking 
Did  not  seem  the  proper  thing. 

Then  a  creature,  skinned  and  crimson, 

Ran  about  the  floor  and  cried, 
And  they  said  I  had  the  "  jims  "  on, 

And  they  dosed  me  with  bromide, 
And  they  locked  me  in  my  bedroom — 

Me  and  one  wee  Blood  Red  Mouse — 
Though  I  said :  "  To  give  my  head  room 

You  had  best  unroof  the  house." 

But  my  words  were  all  unheeded, 

Though  I  told  the  grave  M.D. 
That  the  treatment  really  needed 

Was  a  dip  in  open  sea 
That  was  lapping  just  below  me, 

Smooth  as  silver,  white  as  snow, 
And  it  took  three  men  to  throw  me 

When  I  found  I  could  not  go. 


LA    NUIT    BLANCHE.  115 

Half  the  night  I  watch  the  Heavens 

Fizz  like  '81  champagne — 
Fly  to  sixes  and  to  sevens, 

Wheel  and  thunder  back  again ; 
And  when  all  was  peace  and  order 

Save  one  planet  nailed  askew, 
Much  I  wept  because  my  warder 

Would  not  let  me  set  it  true. 

After  frenzied  hours  of  waiting, 

When  the  Earth  and  Skies  were  dumb, 
Pealed  an  awful  voice  dictating 

An  interminable  sum, 
Changing  to  a  tangled  story — 

"  What  she  said  you  said  I  said — " 
Till  the  Moon  arose  in  glory, 

And  I  found  her  ...  in  my  head; 

Then  a  Face  came,  blind  and  weeping, 

And  It  couldn't  wipe  Its  eyes, 
And  It  muttered  I  was  keeping 

Back  the  moonlight  from  the  skies ; 


116  OTHER    VERSES. 

So  I  patted  It  for  pity, 

But  It  whistled  shrill  with  wrath, 
And  a  huge  black  Devil  City 

Poured  its  peoples  on  my  path. 

So  I  fled  with  steps  uncertain 

On  a  thousand-year  long  race, 
But  the  bellying  of  the  curtain 

Kept  me  always  in  one  place ; 
While  the  tumult  rose  and  maddened 

To  the  roar  of  Earth  on  fire, 
Ere  it  ebbed  and  sank  and  saddened 

To  a  whisper  tense  as  wire. 

In  intolerable  stillness 

Rose  one  little,  little  star, 
And  it  chuckled  at  my  illness, 

And  it  mocked  me  from  afar ; 
And  its  brethren  came  and  eyed  me, 

Called  the  Universe  to  aid, 
Till  I  lay,  with  naught  to  hide  me, 

'Neath  the  Scorn  of  All  Things  Made, 


LA    NUIT    BLANCHE.  117 

Dun  and  saffron,  robed  and  splendid, 

Broke  the  solemn,  pitying  Day, 
And  I  knew  my  pains  were  ended, 

And  I  turned  and  tried  to  pray ; 
But  my  speech  was  shattered  wholly, 

And  I  wept  as  children  weep, 
Till  the  dawn-wind,  softly,  slowly, 

Brought  to  burning  eyelids  sleep. 


118  OTHER    VEESES. 


MY  RIVAL. 

I  GO  to  concert,  party,  ball — 

What  profit  is  in  these  ? 
I  sit  alone  against  the  wall 

And  strive  to  look  at  ease. 
The  incense  that  is  mine  by  right 

They  burn  before  Her  shrine ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

I  cannot  check  my  girlish  blush, 

My  color  comes  and  goes  ; 
I  redden  to  my  finger-tips, 

And  sometimes  to  my  nose. 
But  She  is  white  where  white  should  be, 

And  red  where  red  should  shine. 
The  blush  that  flies  at  seventeen 

Is  fixed  at  forty-nine. 


MY    RIVAL.  119 

I  wish  /  had  Her  constant  cheek : 

I  wish  that  I  could  sing 
All  sorts  of  funny  little  songs, 

Not  quite  the  proper  thing. 
I'm  very  gauche  and  very  shy, 

Her  jokes  aren't  in  my  line ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  I'm  seventeen 

While  She  is  forty-nine. 

The  young  men  conie,  the  young  men  go, 

Each  pink  and  white  and  neat, 
She's  older  than  their  mothers,  but 

They  grovel  at  Her  feet. 
They  walk  besides  Her  'rickshaw  wheels — 

None  ever  walk  by  mine  ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

She  rides  with  half  a  dozen  men, 

(She  calls  them  "boys  "  and  " mashers") 

I  trot  along  the  Mall  alone ; 
My  prettiest  frocks  and  sashes 


120  OTHER    VERSES. 

Don't  help  to  fill  my  program-card, 

And  vainly  I  repine 
From  ten  to  two  A.  M.     Ah  me  ! 

Would  I  were  forty-nine  ! 

She  calls  me  "  darling/'  "  pet/'  and  "  dear/' 

And  "  sweet  retiring  maid." 
I'm  always  at  the  back,  I  know. 

She  puts  me  in  the  shade. 
She  introduces  me  to  men, 

"  Cast  "  lovers,  I  opine, 
For  sixty  takes  to  seventeen, 

Nineteen  to  forty-nine. 

But  even  She  must  older  grow 

And  end  Her  dancing  days, 
She  can't  go  on  forever  so 

At  concerts,  balls,  and  plays. 
One  ray  of  priceless  hope  I  see 

Before  my  footsteps  shine  ; 
Just  think,  that  She'll  be  eighty-one 

When  I  am  forty-nine. 


THE    LOVERS'    LITANY.  121 


THE  LOVERS'  LITANY. 

EYES  of  gray — a  sodden  quay, 

Driving  rain  and  falling  tears, 

As  the  steamer  wears  to  sea 

In  a  parting  storm  of  cheers. 

Sing,  for  Faith  and  Hope  are  high— 
None  so  true  as  you  and  I — 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 

Eyes  of  black — a  throbbing  keel, 
Milky  foam  to  left  and  right ; 
Whispered  converse  near  the  wheel 
In  the  brilliant  tropic  night. 

Cross  that  rules  the  Southern  Sky ! 

* 

Stars  that  sweep  and  wrheel  and  fly. 

Hear  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 


122  OTHER    VERSES. 

Eyes  of  brown — a  dusty  plain 
Split  and  parched  with  heat  of  June, 
Flying  hoof  and  tightened  rein, 
Hearts  that  beat  the  old,  old  tune. 
Side  by  side  the  horses  fly, 
Frame  we  now  the  old  reply 
Of  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 
u  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  9: 

Eyes  of  blue — the  Simla  Hills 
Silvered  with  the  moonlight  hoar ; 
Pleading  of  the  wraltz  that  thrills, 
Dies  and  echoes  round  Benmore. 

"Mabel,"  "Officers,"  "  Good-by," 

Glamour,  wine,  and  witchery — 

On  my  soul's  sincerity, 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 

Maidens,  of  your  charity, 
Pity  my  most  luckless  state. 
Four  times  Cupid's  debtor  I — 
Bankrupt  in  quadruplicate. 


THE    LOVERS'    LITANY.  123 

Yet,  despite  tliis  evil  case, 

An  a  maiden  showed  me  grace, 

Four-and-forty  times  would  I 

Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 


124  OTHER    VERSES. 


A- BALLAD  OF  BURIAL. 

("  Saint  Praxe&s  ever  was  the  Church  for  peace.") 

IF  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 

Solemnly  I  beg  you  take 
All  that  is  left  of  "  I  " 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Pack  me  very  thoroughly 

In  the  ice  that  used  to  slake 
Pegs  I  drank  when  I  was  dry — 

This  observe  for  old  sake's  sake. 

To  the  railway  station  hie, 

There  a  single  ticket  take 
For  Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall  not  mind  delay  or  shake. 
I  shall  rest  contentedly 

Spite  of  clamor  coolies  make  ; 
Thus  in  state  and  dignity 

Send  me  up  for  old  sake's  sake. 


A    BALLAD    OF    BURIAL.  125 

Next  the  sleepy  Babu  wake, 

Book  a  Kalka  van  "  for  four." 
Few,  I  think,  will  care  to  make 

Journeys  with  me  any  more 
As  they  used  to  do  of  yore. 

I  shall  need  a  "  special "  break — 
Thing  I  never  took  before — 

Get  me  one  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — arrangements  make. 

No  hotel  will  take  me  in, 
And  a  bullock's  back  would  break 

'Neath  the  teak  and  leaden  skin. 
Tonga  ropes  are  frail  and  thin, 

Or,  did  I  a  back-seat  take, 
In  a  tonga  I  might  spin, — 

Do  your  best  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — your  work  is  done. 

Recollect  a  Padre  must 
Mourn  the  dear  departed  one — 

Throw  the  ashes  and  the  dust. 


126  OTHER    VERSES. 

Don't  go  down  at  once.  I  trust 
You  will  find  excuse  to  "  snake 

Three  days'  casual  on  the  bust," 
Get  your  fun  for  old  sake's  sake. 

I  could  never  stand  the  Plains. 

Think  of  blazing  June  and  May, 
Think  of  those  September  rains 

Yearly  till  the  Judgment  Day  ! 
I  should  never  rest  in  peace, 

I  should  sweat  and  lie  awake.  . 
Rail  me  then,  on  my  decease, 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 


DIVIDED    DESTINIES.  127 


DIVIDED  DESTINIES. 

IT  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced  upon 

a  pine, 
And  much  I  wondered  how  he  lived,  and  where 

the  beast  might  dine. 
And   many,    many   other    things,    till,    o'er   my 

morning  smoke, 
I   slept   the  '  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamt  that 

Bandar  spoke. 

He   said :     "  0    man    of    many    clothes  !      Sad 

crawler  on  the  Hills  ! 
Observe,  I  know  not    Ranken's  shop,  nor    Ran- 

ken's  monthly  bills  ; 
I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the   coats  that  you 

call  dress  ; 
Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little  drinks 

at  Mess. 


128  OTHER    VERSES. 

"  I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon  and 
eventide, 

(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the  moun- 
tain side, 

I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  and  no,  never  in 
my  life 

Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Bandar's 
wife. 

"  0  man  of  futile  fopperies  —  unnecessary 
wraps ; 

I  own  no  ponies  in  the  hills,  I  drive  no  tall- 
wheeled  traps ; 

I  buy  me  not  twelve-button  gloves,  '  short  sixes  ' 
eke,  or  rings, 

Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on 
'  pretty  things.' 

"  I  quarrel  with  my  wife  at  home,  we  never  fight 

abroad  ; 
But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her  only 

lord. 


DIVIDED    DESTINIES.  129 

I  never  heard  of  fever — dumps  nor  debts  depress 

my  soul ; 
And  I  pity  and  despise  you  !  "     Here  he  pouched 

my  breakfast-roll. 

His  hide  was  very  mangy,  and  his  face  was  very  red, 
And  ever  and  anon  he  scratched  with  energy  his 

head. 
His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how  my 

spirit  cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandar  loose  upon  the  mountain 

side ! 

• 
So  I  answered  :   "  Gentle  Bandar,  an  inscrutable 

Decree 
Makes  thee  a  gleesome  fleasome  Thou,  and  me  a 

wretched  Me. 
Go  !  Depart   in  peace,  my  brother,  to  thy  home 

amid  the  pine ; 
Yet  forget  not   once  a  mortal  wished  to  change 

his  lot  with  thine." 


130  OTHER   VERSES. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY. 

ARGUMENT. — The  Indian  Government,  being  minded  to  dis- 
cover the  economic  condition  of  their  lands,  sent  a  Committee 
to  inquire  into  it ;  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

SCENE. — The  wooded  heights  of  Simla.  The 
Incarnation  of  the  Government  of  India  in 
the  raiment  of  the  Angel  of  Plenty  sings,  to 
pianoforte  accompaniment : — 

"  How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  life  ! 

From  the  dawn  to  the  even  he  strays — 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day, 

And  his  tongue  shall  be  filled  with  praise. 

(Adagio  dim.)  Filled  with  praise  !  " 

(Largendo  con  sp.}  Now  this  is  the  position, 
Go  make  an  inquisition 
Into  their  real  condition 
As  swiftly  as  ye  may. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.        131 

(p.)  Ay,  paint  our  swarthy  billions 
The  richest  of  vermilions 
Ere  two  well-led  cotillions 

Have  danced  themselves  away. 

TURKISH  PATROL,  as  able  and  intelligent  Investi- 
gators wind  down  the  Himalayas  : — 

What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation  ?     What  is  its 

occupation  ? 
Hi !    get  along,  get  along,  get  along — lend  us 

the  information  ! 

(Dim.)  Census  the  byle  and  the  yabu — capture  a 

first-class  Babu, 
Set  him  to  cut  Gazetteers — Gazetteers     .     .     . 

(ff.}  What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation,  etc.,  etc. 

INTERLUDE,   from   Nowhere  in   Particular,  to 
stringed  and  Oriental  instruments. 

Our  cattle  reel  beneath  the  yoke  they  bear — 
The  earth  is  iron,  and  the  skies  are  brass — 


132  OTHER    VERSES. 

And  faint  with  fervor  of  the  flaming  air 
The  languid  hours  pass. 

The  well  is  dry  beneath  the  village  tree — 

The    young   wheat    withers    ere   it   reach    a 

span, 
And  belts  of  blinding  sand  show  cruelly 

Where  once  the  river  ran. 

Pray,  brothers,  pray,  but  to  no  earthly  King — 
Lift  up  your  hands  above  the  blighted  grain, 
Look  westward — if  they  please,  the  Gods  shall 

bring 
Their  mercy  with  the  rain. 

Look  westward — bears  the  blue  no  brown  cloud- 
bank  ? 

Nay,    it    is    written — wherefore    should    we 
fly? 

On  our  own  field  and  by  our  cattle's  flank 
Lie  down,  lie  down  to  die  ! 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.  133 

SEMI-CHORUS. 

By  the  plumed  heads  of  Kings 

Waving  high, 
Where  the  tall  corn  springs 

O'er  the  dead. 

If  they  rust  or  rot  we  die, 

If  they  ripen  we  are  fed. 

Very  mighty  is  the  power  of  our  Kings  ! 

Triumphal  return  to  Simla  of  the  Investigators, 
attired  after  the  manner  of  Dionysus,  leading 
a  pet-tiger  in  wreaths  of  rhubarb  leaves,  sym- 
bolical of  India  under  medical  treatment. 
They  sing  : 

We  have  seen,  we  have  written — behold  it,  the 

proof  of  our  manifold  toil ! 
In  their  hosts  they  assembled  and  told  it — the 

tale  of  the  sons  of  the  soil. 


134  OTHER    VERSES. 

We  have  said  of  the  Sickness,  "  Where  is  it  ?  " — 

and  of  Death,  "  It  is  far  from  our  ken  j  " 
We  have  paid  a  particular  visit  to  the  affluent 

children  of  men. 
We  have  trodden  the  mart  and  the  well-curb — 

we  have  stooped  to  the  bield  and  the  byre  ; 
And  the  King  may  the  forces  of  Hell  curb,  for 

the  People  have  all  they  desire ! 

Castanets  and  step-dance : 

Oh,  the   dom  and  the  mag  and  the  ihakur  and 
the  thag, 

And  the  nat  and  the  brinjaree, 
And  the  bimnia  and  the  ryot  are  as  happy  and 
as  quiet 

And  as  plump  as  they  can  be  ! 
Yes,  the  jain  and  the  jot  in  his  stucco-fronted 
hut, 

And  the  bounding  bazugar, 
By  the  favor  of  the  King,  are  as  fat  as  anything, 
They  are — they  are — they  are  ! 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.         135 

RECITATIVE,  Government  of  India,  with  white 
satin  wings  and  electroplated  harp  : — 

How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains — in  peace 
reclining, 

Thus  to  be  assured  that  our  people  are  unani- 
mously dining. 

And  though  there  are  places  not  so  blessed  as 
others  in  natural  advantages,  which,  after  all, 
was  only  to  be  expected, 

Proud  and  glad  are  we  to  congratulate  you  upon 
the  work  you  have  thus  ably  effected. 

(Ores.)     How  be-ewtiful  upon  the  mountains! 

HIRED  BAND,    brasses  only,  full  chorus  : 

God  bless  the  Squire 

And  all  his  rich  relations 

Who  teach  us  poor  people 

We  eat  our  proper  rations — 
We  eat  our  proper  rations, 
In  spite,  of  inundations, 


136  OTHER    VERSES. 

Malarial  exhalations, 

And  casual  starvations, 
We  have,  we  have,  they  say  we  have — 
We  have  our  proper  rations ! 

(Cornet.} 

Which  nobody  can  deny  ! 

If  he  does  he  tells  a  lie — 

We  are  all  as  willing  as  Barkis — 
We  all  of  us  loves  the  Markiss — 
We  all  of  us  stuffs  our  ca-ar-kis — 
With  food  until  we  die  !     (Da  capo.} 

CHORUS  OF  THE  CRYSTALIZED  FACTS. 

Before  the  beginning  of  years 
There  came  to  the  rule  of  the  State 
Men  with  a  pair  of  shears, 
Men  with  an  Estimate — 
Strachey  with  Muir  for  leaven, 
Lytton  with  locks  that  fell, 
Kipon  fooling  with  Heaven, 
And  Temple  riding  like  H-ll ! 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.        137 

And  the  bigots  took  in  hand 

Cess  and  the  falling  of  rain, 

And  the  measure  of  sifted  sand 

The  dealer  puts  in  the  grain — 

Imports  by  land  and  sea, 

To  uttermost  decimal  worth, 

And  registration — free — 

In  the  houses  of  death  and  of  birth : 

And  fashioned  with  pens  and  paper, 

And  fashioned  in  black  and  white, 

With  Life  for  a  flickering  taper 

And  Death  for  a  blazing  light — 

With  the  Armed  and  the  Civil  Power, 

That  his  strength  might  endure  for  a  span, 

From  Adam's  Bridge  to  Peshawur, 

The  Much  Administered  man. 

In  the  towns  of  the  North  and  the  East, 
They  gathered  as  unto  rule, 
They  bade  him  starve  the  priest 
And  send  his  children  to  school. 
Railways  and  roads  they  wrought, 


138  OTHER    VERSES. 

For  the  needs  of  the  soil  within  ; 
A  time  to  squabble  in  court, 
•      A  time  to  bear  and  to  grin. 

And  gave  him  peace  in  his  ways, 

Jails — and  Police  to  fight. 

Justice  at  length  of  days, 

And  Right — and  Might  in  the  Right. 

His  speech  is  of  mortgaged  bedding, 

On  his  kine  he    borrows  yet, 

At  his  heart  is  his  daughter's  wedding, 

In  his  eye  foreknowledge  of  debt. 

He  eats  and  hath  indigestion, 

He  toils  and  he  may  not  stop  ; 

His  life  is  a  long-drawn  question 

Between  a  crop  and  a  crop. 


THE  MARE'S  NEST.  139 


THE  MARE'S  NEST. 

JANE  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 
Was  good  beyond  all  earthly  need ; 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  spouse 
Was  very,  very  bad  indeed. 

He  smoked  cigars,  called  churches  slow, 
And  raced — but  this  she  did  not  know. 

For  Belial  Machiavelli  kept 

The  little  fact  a  secret,  and, 
Though  o'er  his  minor  sins  she  wept, 

Jane  Austen  did  not  understand 
That  Lilly — thirteen  two  and  bay — 
Absorbed  one  half  her  husband's  pay. 

She  was  so  good,  she  made  him  worse ; 

(Some  women  are  like  this,  I  think  ;) 
He  taught  her  parrot  how  to  curse, 

Her  Assam  monkey  how  to  drink. 


140  OTHER    VERSES. 

He  vexed  her  righteous  soul  until 
She  went  up,  and  he  went  down  hill. 


Then  came  the  crisis,  strange  to  say, 
Which  turned  a  good  wife  to  a  better. 

A  telegraphic  peon,  one  day, 

Brought  her — now,  had  it  been  a  letter 

For  Belial  Machiavelli,  I 

Know  Jane  would  just  have  let  it  lie. 

But  'twas  a  telegram  instead, 

Marked  "  urgent/'  and  her  duty  plain 
To  open  it.     Jane  Austen  read  : — 

"  Your  Lilly's  got  a  cough  again. 
Can't  understand  why  she  is  kept 
At  your  expense."     Jane  Austen  wept. 

It  was  a  misdirected  wire. 

Her  husband  was  at  Shaitanpore. 
She  spread  her  anger,  hot  as  fire, 

Through  six  thin  foreign  sheets  or  more, 


THE  MARE'S  NEST.  141 

Sent  off  that  letter,  wrote  another 
To  her  solicitor — and  mother. 

Then  Belial  Machiavelli  saw 
Her  error  and,  I  trust,  his  own, 

Wired  to  the  minion  of  the  Law, 
And  traveled  wifeward — not  alone. 

For  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 

Came  in  a  horse-box  all  the  way. 

There  was  a  scene — a  weep  or  two — 
With  many  kisses.     Austen  Jane 

Rode  Lilly  all  the  season  through, 
And  never  opened  wires  again. 

She  races  now  with  Belial.     This 

Is  very  sad,  but  so  it  is. 


142  OTHER   VERSES. 


POSSIBILITIES. 

AY,  lay  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine — 
A  fortnight  fully  to  be  missed, 
Behold,  we  lose  our  fourth  at  whist, 

A  chair  is  vacant  where  we  dine. 

His  place  forgets  him  ;  other  men 

Have  bought  his  ponies,  guns,  and  traps. 
His  fortune  is  the  Great  Perhaps 

And  that  cool  rest-house  down  the  glen, 

Whence  he  shall  hear,  as  spirits  may, 
Our  mundane  revel  on  the  height, 
Shall  watch  each  flashing  'rickshaw-light 

Sweep  on  to  dinner,  dance,  and  play. 

Benmore  shall  woo  him  to  the  ball 

With  lighted  rooms  and  braying  band, 
And  he  shall  hear  and  understand 

"  Dream  Faces  "  better  than  us  all. 


POSSIBILITIES.  143 

For,  think  you,  as  the  vapors  flee 
Across  Sanjaolie  after  rain, 
His  soul  may  climb  the  hill  again 

To  each  old  field  of  victory. 


Unseen,  who  women  held  so  dear, 

The  strong  man's  yearning  to  his  kind 
Shall  shake  at  most  the  window-blind, 

Or  dull  awhile  the  card-room's  cheer. 


In  his  own  place  of  power  unknown, 
His  Light  o'  Love  another's  flame, 
His  dearest  pony  galloped  lame, 

And  he  an  alien  and  alone. 


Yet  may  he  meet  with  many  a  friend — 
Shrewd  shadows,  lingering  long  unseen 
Among  us  when  "  God  save  the  Queen  " 

Shows  even  "  extras  "  have  an  end. 


144  OTHER    VERSES. 

And,  when  we  leave  the  heated  room, 
And,  when  at  four  the  lights  expire, 
The  crew  shall  gather  round  the  fire 

And  mock  our  laughter  in  the  gloom. 

Talk  as  we  talked,  and  they  ere  death — 
First  wanly,  dance  in  ghostly  wise, 
With  ghosts  of  tunes  for  melodies, 

And  vanish  at  the  morning's  breath. 


CHRISTMAS    IN    INDIA.  145 


CHRISTMAS  IN  INDIA. 

DIM    dawn    behind    the    tamarisks — the    sky    is 

saffron-yellow — 

As  the  women  in  the  village  grind  the  corn, 
And  the  parrots  seek  the  river-side,  each  calling 

to  his  fellow 

That  the  Day,  the  staring  Eastern  Day  is  born. 
Oh  the  white  dust  on  the  highway !    Oh  the 

stenches  in  the  byway ! 
Oh  the  clammy  fog  that  hovers  over  earth  ! 
And  at  Home  they're    making  merry  'neath 

the  white  and  scarlet  berry — 
What    part    have  India's   exiles  in    their 
mirth? 

Full  day  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sky  is   blue 

and  staring — 
As  the  cattle  crawl  afield  beneath  the  yoke, 


10 


146  OTHER    VERSES. 

And  they  bear  One  o'er  the  field-path,  who  is 

past  all  hope  or  caring, 
To    the    gaht   below  the    curling  wreaths    of 

smoke. 
Call    on   Rama,  going  slowly,  as  ye    bear  a 

brother  lowly — 
Call  on  Rama — he  may  hear,  perhaps,  your 

voice ! 
With  our  hymn-books  and  our  psalters  we 

appeal  to  other  altars, 
And  to-day  we  bid  "  good  Christian  men 
rejoice  !  " 

High  noon  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sun  is  hot 

above  us — 

As  at  Home  the  Christmas  Day  is  breaking  wan. 
They  will  drink  our  healths  at  dinner — those  who 

tell  us  how  they  love  us, 
And  forget  us  till  another  year  be  gone  ! 
Oh  the  toil  that  knows  no   breaking  !     Oh  ! 
the  Ueimweh,  ceaseless,  aching ! 


CHRISTMAS    IN    INDIA.  147 

Oh  the  black  dividing  Sea  and  alien  Plain  ! 
Youth    was    cheap — wherefore    we    sold   it. 

Gold  was  good — we  hoped  to  hold  it, 
And  to-day  wa  know  the   fulness  of  our 
gain. 

Gray  dusk  behind  the  tamarisks — the  parrots  fly 

together—- 
As the  sun  is  sinking  slowly  over  Home ; 
And  his  last  ray  seems  to  mock  us  shackled  in  a 

lifelong  tether 
That    drags     us    back    howe'er    so    far    we 

roam. 
Hard  her  service,  poor  her  payment — she  in 

ancient,  tattered  raiment — 
India,  she    the  grim    Stepmother  of  our 

kind. 
If  a  year  of  life  be  lent  her,  if  her  temple's 

shrine  we  enter, 

The    door   is    shut — we     may    not    look 
behind. 


148  OTHER    VERSES. 

Black   night    behind    the   tamarisks — the    owls 

begin  their  chorus — 
As  the  conches  from  the  temple  scream  and 

bray. 

With  the  fruitless  years  behind  us,  and  the  hope- 
less years  before  us, 

Let  us  honor,  0  my  brothers,  Christmas  Day  ! 
Call  a   truce,  then,   to   our   labors — let  us 

feast  with  friends  and  neighbors, 
And  be  merry  as  the  custom  of  our  caste ; 
For  if  "  faint  and  forced  the  laughter,"  and 

if  sadness  follow  after, 
We  are  richer  by  one  mocking  Christmas 
past. 


PAGETT,    M.  P.  149 


PAGETT,  M.  P. 

The  toad  beneath  the  harrow  knows 
Exactly  where  each  tooth-point  goes. 
The  butterfly  upon  the  road 
Preaches  contentment  to  that  toad. 

PAGETT,  M.   P.,  was   a   liar,  and  a  fluent    liar 

therewith, — 
He  spoke  of  the  heat  of  India  as  the  "  Asian 

Solar  Myth;" 
Came  on  a  four  months'   visit,    to   "  study  the 

East,"  in  November, 
And  I  got  him  to  sign  an  agreement  vowing  to 

stay  till  September. 

March  came  in  with  the  koil.      Pagett  was  cool 

and  gay, 
Called  me  a  "  bloated  Brahmin,"  talked  of  my 

"  princely  pay." 


150  OTHER    VERSES. 

March  went  out  with  the  roses.     "  Where  is  your 

heat  ?  "  said  he. 
"  Coming/'  said  I  to  Pagett.      "  Skittles  !  "  said 

Pagett,  M.  P. 

April  began  with  the  punkah,  coolies,  and  prickly- 
heat, — 

Pagett  was  dear  to  mosquitoes,  sandflies  found 
him  a  treat. 

He  grew  speckled  and  lumpy  —  hammered,  I 
grieve  to  say, 

Aryan  brothers  who  fanned  him,  in  an  illiberal 
way. 

May  set  in  with  a  dust-storm, — Pagett  went  down 
with  the  sun. 

All  the  delights  of  the  season  tickled  him  one 
by  one. 

Imprimis — ten  days'  "  liver  " — due  to  his  drink- 
ing beer ; 

Later,  a  dose  of  fever — slight,  but  he  called  it 
severe. 


PAGETT,    M.  P.  151 

Dysent'ry  touched  him  in  June,  after  the   Chota 

Bursat — 
Lowered  his  portly  person — made  him  yearn  to 

depart. 
He  didn't  call  me  a  "  Brahmin/'  or  "  bloated," 

or  "  overpaid," 
But  seemed  to  think  it  a  wonder  that  any  one 

stayed. 

July  was  a  trifle  unhealthy, — Paget  was  ill  with 

fear, 
'Called  it  the  "  Cholera  Morbus,"  hinted  that  life 

was  dear. 
He  babbled  of  "  Eastern  exile,"  and  mentioned  his 

home  with  tears  ; 
But  I  hadn't   seen  my  children  for  close  upon 

seven  years. 

We  reached  a  hundred  and  twenty  once  in  the 

Court  at  noon, 
(I've  mentioned  Pagett  was  portly)  Pagett  went 

off  in  a  swoon. 


152  OTHER    VERSES. 

That  was  an  end  to  the  business;  Pagett,  the 

perjured,  fled 
With  a  practical,  working  knowledge  of  "  Solar 

Myths  "  in  his  head. 

And  I  laughed  as  I  drove  from  the  station,  but 

the  mirth  died  out  on  my  lips 
As  I  thought  of  the  fools  like  Pagett  who  write 

of  their  "  Eastern  trips," 
And  the  sneers  of  the  traveled  idiots  who  duly 

misgovern  the  land, 
And  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  another  one 

into  my  hand. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    WOMEN.  153 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN. 

(Lady  Duff erin's  fund  for     edical  aid  to  the  Women  of  India.) 

How  shall  she  know  the  worship  we  would  do 

her  ? 

The  walls  are  high,  and  she  is  very  far. 
How  shall  the  women's  message  reach  unto  her 
Above  the  tumult  of  the  packed  bazaar  ? 
Free    wind    of    March,    against   the    lattice 

blowing, 

Bear  thou  our  thanks,  lest  she  depart  un- 
knowing. 

Go  forth  across  the  fields  we  may  not  roam  in, 
Go  forth  beyond  the  trees  that  rim  the  city, 
To   whatsoe'er    fair   place    she    hath    her   home 

in, 

Who    dowered   us   with  wealth    of   love   and 
pity. 


154  OTHER    VERSES. 

Out  of  our  shadow  pass,  and  seek  her  sing- 
ing 

"  I  have  no  gifts  but  Love  alone  for  bring- 
ing." 

Say  that  we  be  a  feeble  folk  who  greet  her, 
But  old  in  grief,  and  very  wise  in  tears  ; 
Say  that  we,  being  desolate,  entreat  her 
That  she  forget  us  not  in  after  years ; 

For  we  have  seen  the  light,   and  it  were 

grievous 
To  dim  that  dawning  if  our  lady  leave  us. 

By  life  that  ebbed  with  none  to  stanch  the  fail- 
ing* 
By  Love's  sad  harvest  garnered  in  the  spring, 

When  Love  in  ignorance  wept  unavailing 

O'er   young    buds     dead   before    their    blos- 
soming ; 
By  all  the  gray  owl  watched,  the  pale  moon 

viewed, 
In  past  grim  years,  declare  our  gratitude  ! 


THE    SONG    OF   THE    WOMEN.  155 

By  hands  uplifted  to  the  Gods  that  heard  not, 
By  gifts  that  found  no  favor  in  their  sight, 
By  faces  bent  above  the  babe  that  stirred  not, 
By  nameless  horrors  of  the  stifling  night ; 
By  ills  foredone,  by  peace  her  toils  discover, 
Bid  Earth  be   good   beneath    and    Heaven 
above  her  ! 

If  she  have  sent  her  servants  in  our  pain, 

If  she  have  fought  with  Death  and  dulled  his 

sword ; 
If  she  have  given  back  our  sick  again, 

And  to  the  breast  the  weakling  lips  restored, 
Is  it  a  little  thing  that  she  has  wrought  ? 
Then  Life  and  Death  and  Motherhood  be 
nought. 

Go  forth,  0  wind,  our  message  on  thy  wings, 
And  they  shall  hear  thee  pass   and  bid  thee 
speed, 

In  reed-roofed  hut,  or  white-walled  home  of  kings, 
Who  have  been  helpen  by  her  in  their  need. 


156  OTHER    VERSES. 

All  spring  shall  give  thee  fragrance,  and  the 

wheat 
Shall  be  a  tasseled  floorcloth  to  thy  feet. 

Haste,  for  our    hearts  are  with    thee,   take    no 

rest ! 

Loud-voiced  ambassador,  from  sea  to  sea 
Proclaim  the  blessing,  manifold,  confest, 
Of  those  in  darkness  by  her  hand  set  free, 
Then  very  softly  to  her  presence  move, 
And  whisper  :  "  Lady,  lo,   they  know  and 
love  !  " 


A   BALLADE    OF   JAKKO    HILL.  157 


A  BALLADE  OF  JAKKO  HILL. 

ONE  moment  bid  the  horses  wait, 

Since  tiffin  is  not  laid  till  three, 
Below  the  upward  path  and  straight 

You  climbed  a  year  ago  with  me. 
Love  came  upon  us  suddenly 

And  loosed: — an  idle  hour  to  kill — 
A  headless,  armless  armory 

That  smote  us  both  on  Jakko  Hill. 

Ah  Heaven  !  we  would  wait  and  wait 
Through  Time  and  to  Eternity  ! 

Ah  Heaven  !  we  could  conquer  Fate 
With  more  than  Godlike  constancy  ! 

I  cut  the  date  upon  a  tree — 

Here  stand  the  clumsy  figures  still : — 

«  10-7-85,  A.D," 

Damp  with  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill, 


158  OTHER    VERSES. 

What  came  of  high  resolve  and  great, 

And  until  Death  fidelity  ? 
Whose  horse  is  waiting  at  your  gate  ? 

Whose  'rickshaw-wheels  ride  over  me  ? 
No  Saint's,  I  swear ;  and — let  me  see 

To-night  what  names  your  program  fill- 
We  drift  asunder  merrily, 

As  drifts  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill ! 


L'ENVOI. 


Princess,  behold  our  ancient  state 

Has  clean  departed  ;  and  we  see 
'Twas  Idleness  we  took  for  Fate 

That  bound  light  bonds  on  you  and  me. 
Amen  !     Here  ends  the  comedy 

Where  it  began  in  all  good  will ; 
Since  Love  and  Leave  together  flee 

As  driven  mist  on  Jakko  Hill ! 


THE    PLEA   OF    THE    SIMLA   DANCERS.       159 


THE  PLEA  OF  THE  SIMLA  DANCERS. 

Too  late,  alas  !  the  song 

To  remedy  the  wrong  ; — 
The  rooms  are  taken  from  us,  swept  and  garnished  for  their  fate. 

But  these  tear-besprinkled  pages 

Shall  attest  to  future  ages 
That  we  cried  against  the  crime  of  it — too  late,  alas  !  too  late  ! 

"  WHAT  have  we  ever  done  to  bear  this  grudge  ?  " 

Was  there  no  room  save  only  in  Benmore 
For  docket,  duftar,  and  for  office  drudge, 

That  you  usurp  our  smoothest  dancing  floor  ? 
Must  babus  do  their  work  on  polished  teak  ? 

Are  ball-rooms  fittest  for  the  ink  you  spill  ? 
Was  there  no  other  cheaper  house  to  seek  ? 

You  might  have  left  them  all  at  Strawberry  Hill. 

We  never  harmed  you !     Innocent  our  guise, 
Dainty  our  shining  feet,  our  voices  low ; 

And  we  revolved  to  divers  melodies, 
And  we  were  happy  but  a  year  ago. 


160  OTHER    VERSES. 

To-night,  the  moon  that  watched  our  lightsome 
wiles — 

That  beamed  upon  us  through  the  deodars — 
Is  wan  with  gazing  on  official  files, 

And  desecrating  desks  disgust  the  stars. 

Nay  !  by  the  memory  of  tuneful  nights — 

Nay  !  by  the  witchery  of  flying  feet — 
Nay  !  by  the  glamour  of  foredone  delights — 

By  all  things  merry,  musical,  and  meet — 
By  wine  that  sparkled,  and  by  sparkling  eyes — 

By  wailing  waltz — by  reckless  galops  strain — 
By  dim  verandas  and  by  soft  replies, 

Give  us  our  ravished  ball-room  back  again  ! 

Or — harken  to  the  curse  we  lay  on  you  ! 

The    ghosts    of   waltzes    shall    perplex   your 

brain, 
And  murmurs  of  past  merriment  pursue 

Your    'wildered    clerks    that    they   indite    in 
vain; 


THE    PLEA    OF    THE    SIMLA    DANCERS.        161 

And,    when    you    count     your    poor    Provincial 
millions, 

The  only  figures  that  your  pen  shall  frame 
Shall  be  the  figures  of  dear,  dear  cotillions 

Danced  out  in  tumult  long  before  you  came. 

Yea  !  "  See  Saw  "  shall  upset  your  estimates, 

"  Dream  Faces  "  shall  your  heavy  heads  be- 
muse, 
Because  your  hand,  unheeding,  desecrates 

Our  temple  ;  fit  for  higher,  worthier  use. 
And  all  the  long  verandas,  eloquent 

With  echoes  of  a  score  of  Simla  years, 
Shall  plague  you  with  unbidden  sentiment — 

Babbling  of  kisses,  laughter,  love,  and  tears. 

So  shall  you  mazed  amid  old  memories  stand, 
So    shall     you     toil,     and    shall    accomplish 

nought, 
And  ever  in  your  ears  a  phantom  Band 

Shall  blare  away  the  staid  official  thought, 
ii 


162  OTHER    VERSES. 

Wherefore — and  ere  this  awful  curse  be  spoken. 
Cast  out  your  swarthy  sacrilegious  train, 

And   give — ere   dancing     cease    and    hearts     be 

broken — 
Give  us  our  ravished  ball-room  back  again  ! 


BALLAD    OF    FISHEfi's    BOARDING-HOUSE.       163 


BALLAD  OP  FISHER'S  BOARDING-HOUSE. 

That  night,  when  through  the  mooring-chains 

The  wide-eyed  corpse  rolled  free, 
To  blunder  down  by  Garden  Reach 

And  rot  at  Kedgeree, 
The  tale  the  Hughli  told  the  shoal 

The  lean  shoal  told  to  me. 


Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

Where  sailor-men  reside, 
And  there  were  men  of  all  the  ports 

From  Mississip  to  Clyde, 
And  regally  they  spat  and  smoked, 

And  fearsomely  they  lied. 

They  lied  about  the  purple  Sea 
That  gave  them  scanty  bread, 

They  lied  about  the  Earth  beneath, 
The  Heavens  overhead, 

For  they  had  looked  too  often  on 
Black  rum  when  that  was  red. 


164  OTHER    VERSES. 

They  told  their  tales  of  wreck  and  wrong. 

Of  shame  and  lust  and  fraud. 
They  backed  their  toughest  statements  with 

The  Brimstone  of  the  Lord, 
And  crackling  oaths  went  to  and  fro 

Across  the  fist-banged  board. 

And  there  was  Hans  the  Blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
Who  carried  on  his  hairy  chest 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

And  there  was  Jake  Without-the-Ears, 

And  Pamba  the  Malay, 
And  Carboy  Gin  the  Guinea  cook, 

And  Luz  from  Vigo  Bay, 
And  Honest  Jack  who  sold  them  slops 

And  harvested  their  pay. 

And  there  was  Salem  Hardieker^ 
A  lean  Bostonian  he — 


BALLAD    OF    FISHER^S    BOARDING-HOUSE.        165 

Russ,  German,  English,  Half  breed,  Finn, 

Yank,  Dane,  and  Portugee, 
At  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

They  rested  from  the  sea. 

Now  Anne  of  Austria  shared  their  drinks, 

Collinga  knew  her  fame, 
From  Tarnau  in  Galicia 

To  Jaun  Bazar  she  came, 
To  eat  the  bread  of  infamy 

And  take  the  wage  of  shame. 

She  held  a  dozen  men  to  heel — 

Rich  spoil  of  war  was  hers, 
In  hose  and  gown  and  ring  and  chain, 

From  twenty  mariners, 
And,  by  Port  Law,  that  week,  men  called 

Her  Salem  Hardieker's. 

But  seamen  learnt — what  landsmen  know — 
That  neither  gifts  nor  gain 


166  OTHER    VERSES. 

Can  hold  a  winking  Light  o'  Love 

Or  Fancy's  flight  restrain, 
When  Anne  of  Austria  rolled  her  eyes 

On  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Since  Life  is  strife,  and  strife  means  knife, 

From  Howrah  to  the  Bay, 
And  he  may  die  before  the  dawn 

Who  liquored  out  the  day, 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

We  woo  while  yet  we  may. 

But  cold  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
And  laughter  shook  the  chest  beneath 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

"  You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker, 
You  was  his  girl,  I  know. 


BALLAD    OF    FISHER^    BOARDING-HOUSE.       167 

I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  see, 

Und  round  the  Skaw  we  go, 
South,  down  the  Cattegat,  by  Hjelm, 

To  Besser  in  Saro." 

When  love  rejected  turns  to  hate, 

All  ill  betide  the  man. 
"  You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker  " — 

She  spoke  as  woman  can. 
A  scream — a  sob — "  He  called  me — names  !  " 

And  then  the  fray  began. 

An  oath  from  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  shriek  upon  the  stairs, 
A  dance  of  shadows  on  the  wall, 

A  knife-thrust  unawares — 
And  Hans  came  down,  as  cattle  drop, 

Across  the  broken  chairs. 


In  Anne  of  Austria's  trembling  hands 
The  weary  head  fell  low  : — 


168  OTHER    VERSES. 

"  I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  straight 

For  Besser  in  Saro : 
Und  there  Ultruda  comes  to  me 

At  Easter,  und  I  go 

"  South,  down  the  Cattegat—     What's  here  ? 

There — are — no — lights — to — guide  !  " 
The  mutter  ceased,  the  spirit  passed, 

And  Anne  of  Austria  cried 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

When  Hans  the  mighty  died. 

Thus  slew  they  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
But  Anne  of  Austria  looted  first 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


"AS    THE    BELL    CLINKS."  169 


«  AS  THE  BELL  CLINKS.'3 

As  I  left  the  Halls  at  Lumley,  rose  the  vision  of 

a  comely 
Maid  last  season  worshiped  dumbly,  watched  with 

fervor  from  afar ; 
And  I  wondered  idly,  blindly,  if  the  maid  would 

greet  me  kindly. 
That  was  all — the  rest  was  settled  by  the  clinking 

tonga-bar. 
Yea,  my  life  and  hers  were  coupled  by  the  tonga 

coupling-bar. 

For  my  misty  meditation,  at  the  second  changing- 
station, 

Suffered  sudden  dislocation,  fled  before  the  tune- 
less jar 

Of  a  Wagner  obbligato,  scherzo,  double-hand 
staccato, 


170  OTHER    VERSES. 

Played  on  either  pony's  saddle  by  the  clacking 
tonga-bar — 

Played  with  human  speech,  I  fancied,  by  the  jig- 
ging, jolting  bar. 

"  She  was  sweet/'  thought  I,  "  last  season,  but 

'twere  surely  wild  unreason 
Such  tiny  hope  to  freeze  on  as  was  offered  by  my 

Star, 
When  she  whispered,  something  sadly  : — '  I — we 

feel  your  going  badly  !  ' 
"  And  you  let  the  chance  escape  you  ?  "  rapped 

the  rattling  tonga-bar. 
"  What  a  chance  and  what  an  idiot !  "  clinked 

the  vicious  tonga-bar. 

Heart  of  man — oh,  heart  of  putty  !     Had  I  gone 

by  Kakahutti, 
On  the  old  Hill-road  and  rutty,  I  had  'scaped 

that  fatal  car 
But  his  fortune  each  must  bide  by,  so  I  watched 

the  milestones  slide  by, 


"  AS    THE    BELL    CLINKS."  171 

To  "  You  call  on  Her  to-morrow  !  " — fugue  with 

cymbals  by  the  bar — 
"  You  must  call  on  Her  to-morrow  !  " — post-horn 

gallop  by  the  bar. 

Yet  a  further  stage  my  goal  on — we  were  whirl- 
ing down  to  Solon, 

With  a  double  lurch  and  roll  on,  best  foot  fore- 
most, ganz  und  gar — 

"  She  was  very  sweet,"  I  hinted.  "  If  a  kiss  had 
been  imprinted — ?  " 

" '  Would  ha'  saved  a  world  of  trouble  !  "  clashed 
the  busy  tonga-bar. 

"'.Been  accepted  or  rejected!"  banged  and 
clanged  the  tonga-bar. 

Then  a  notion  wild  and  daring,  'spite  the  income 

tax's  paring, 
And  a  hasty  thought  of  sharing — less  than  many 

incomes  are, 
Made  me  put  a  question  private,  you  can  guess 

what  I  would  drive  at. 


172  OTHER    VERSES. 

"  You  must  work  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  clanked 

the  careless  tonga-bar. 
"  Simple  Rule  of  Two  will  prove  it"  lilted  back 

the  tonga-bar. 

It  was  under  Khyraghaut  I  mused  : — "  Suppose 

the  maid  be  haughty — 
(There  are  lovers   rich — and  forty) — wait  some 

wealthv  Avatar? 

«/ 

Answer,  monitor  untiring,  'twixt  the  ponies  twain 

perspiring  ! " 
"  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady"  creaked  the 

straining  tonga-bar. 
"  Can  I  tell  you  ere  you  ask  Her  ?  "  pounded 

slow  the  tonga-bar. 

Last,  the  Tara  Devi  turning  showed  the  lights  of 

Simla  burning, 
Lit  my  little  lazy  yearning  to  a  fiercer  flame  by 

far. 
As  below  the  Mall  we  jingled,  through  my  very 

heart  it  tingled — 


"  AS    THE    BELL    CLINKS."  173 

Did  the  iterated  order  of  the  threshing  tonga- 
bar — 

"  Try  your  luck — you  can't  do  better  !  "  twanged 
the  loosened  tonga-bar. 


174  OTHER    VERSES. 


AN  OLD  SONG. 

So  long  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills 

The  tonga-horn  shall  ring. 
So  long  as  down  the  Solon  dip 

The  hard-held  ponies  swing, 
So  long  as  Tara  Devi  sees 

The  lights  o'  Simla  town, 
So  long  as  Pleasure  calls  us  up, 

And  duty  drives  us  down, 

If  you  love  me  a's  I  love  you, 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two 

So  long  as  Aces  takes  the  King, 

Or  barkers  take  the  bet, 
So  lon^  as  debt  leads  men  to  wed, 

Or  marriage  leads  to  debt, 
So  long  as  little  luncheons,  Love, 

And  scandal  hold  their  vogue, 


AN    OLD    SONG.  175 

While  there  is  sport  at  Annandale 
Or  whisky  at  Jutogh, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  ? 

So  long  as  down  the  rocking  floor 

The  raving  polka  spins, 
So  long  as  Kitchen  Lancers  spur 

The  maddened  violins, 
So  long  as  through  the  whirling  smoke 

We  hear  the  oft-told  tale  : — 
"Twelve  hundred  in  the  Lotteries," 

And  Whatshername  for  sale? 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
Wf?  II  play  the  game  and  win  it  too. 

So  long  as  Lust  or  Lucre  tempt 

Straight  riders  from  ih^  Bourse, 

So  long  as  with  each  drink  we  pour 
Black  brewage  of  Remorse, 

So  long  as  those  unloaded  guns 
We  keep  beside  the  bed 


176  OTHER    VERSES. 

Blow  off,  by  obvious  accident, 
The  lucky  owner's  head, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  can  Life  kill  or  Death  undo  ? 

So  long  as  Death  'twixt  dance  and  dance 

Chills  best  and  bravest  blood, 
And  drops  the  reckless  rider  down 

The  rotten,  rain-soaked  khud, 
So  long  as  rumors  from  the  North 

Make  loving  wives  afraid, 
So  long  as  Burma  takes  the  boy 

And  typhoid  kills  the  maid, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two? 

By  all  that  lights  our  daily  life 

Or  works  our  lifelong  woe, 
From  Boileaugunge  to  Simla  Downs 

And  those  grim  glades  below, 
Where,  heedless  of  the  flying  hoof 

And  clamor  overhead, 


AN    OLD    SONG.  177 

Sleep,  with  the  gray  langur  for  guard, 
Our  very  scornful  Dead, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
All  Earth  is  servant  to  us  two  ? 

By  Docket,  Billetdoux,  and  File, 

By  Mountain,  Cliff,  and  Fir, 
By  Fan  and  Sword  and  Office-box, 

By  Corset,  Plume,  and  Spur, 
By  Riot,  Revel,  Waltz,  and  War, 

By  Women,  Work,  and  Bills, 
By  all  the  life  that  fizzes  in 

The  everlasting  Hills, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  ? 


12 


178  OTHER    VERSES. 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ., 
i. 

IF  It  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the  packed 

serai, 
Does  not  the   Young  Man  try  Its   temper  and 

pace  ere  he  buy  ? 
If  She  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  what  does  the 

Young  Man  say  ? 
"  Lo  !  She  is  pleasant  to  look  on,  give  Her  to 

me  to-day  ! " 

II. 

Yea,  though  a  Kafir  die,  to  him  is  remitted  Je- 

hannum 
If  he  borrowed  in  life  from  a  native  at  sixty  per 

cent  per  annum. 


CERTAIN    MAXIMS    OF   HAFIZ.  179 


III. 

Blister  we  not  for  bursati  ?     So  when  the  heart 

is  vext, 
The  pain  of  one  maiden's  refusal  is  drowned  in 

the  pain  of  the  next. 

IV. 

The  temper  of  chums,  the  love  of  your  wife,  and 

a  new  piano's  tune — 
Which  of  the  three  will  you  trust  at  the  end  of 

an  Indian  June? 

v. 

Who  are  the  rulers  of  Ind — to  whom  shall  we 

bow  the  knee  ? 
Make  your  peace  with  the  women,  and  men  will 

make  you  L.  G. 

VI. 

Does  the  woodpecker  flit  round  the  young  fer ash  ? 

Does  grass  clothe  a  new-built  wall  ? 
Is  she  under  thirty,  the  woman  who  holds  a  boy 

in  her  thrall  ? 


180  OTHER    VERSES. 

VII. 

If  She  grow  suddenly  gracious — reflect.     Is  it 

all  for  thee  ? 
The  black-buck  is  stalked  through  the  bullock, 

and  Man  through  jealousy. 

VIII. 

Seek  not  for  favor  of  women.     So  shall  you  find 

it  indeed. 
Does  not  the  boar  break  cover  just  when  you're 

lighting  a  weed  ? 

IX. 

If  He  play,  being  young  and  ujiskilf ul,  for  shekels 

of  silver  and  gold, 
Take  His  money,  my  son,  praising  Allah.     The 

kid  was  ordained  to  be  sold. 

x. 

With  a  "  weed  "  among  men  or  horses  verily  this 

is  the  best, 
That  you  work  him  in  office  or  dog-cart  lightly 

— but  give  him  no  rest. 


CERTAIN    MAXIMS    OF    HAFIZ.  181 

XI. 

Pleasant  the  snaffle   of  Courtship,  improving  the 

manners  and  carriage ; 
But  the  colt  who  is  wise  will  abstain  from  the 

terrible  thorn-bit  of  Marriage. 

XII. 

As  the  thriftless  gold  of  the   babul,  so  is  the 

gold  that  we  spend 
On  a  Derby  Sweep,  or  our  neighbor's  wife,  or 

the  horse  that  we  buy  from  a  friend. 

XIII. 

The  ways  of  man  with  a  maid  be  strange,  yet 

simple  and  tame 
To  the  ways  of  a  man  with  a  horse,  when  selling 

or  racing  that  same. 

XIV. 

In  public  Her  face  turneth  to  thee,  and  pleasant 

Her  smile  when  ye  meet. 
It  is  ill.     The  cold  rocks  of  El-Gidar  smile  thus 

on  the  waves  at  their  feet. 


182  OTHER    VERSES. 

In  public  Her  face  is  averted,  with  anger  She 

nameth  thy  name. 
It  is  well.     Was  there  ever  a  loser  content  with 

the  loss  of  the  game  ? 

XV. 

If  She  have  spoken  a  word,  remember  thy  lips 

are  sealed, 
And  the  Brand  of  the  Dog  is  upon  him  by  whom 

is  the  secret  revealed. 
If  She  have  written  a  letter,  delay  not  an  instant, 

but  burn  it. 
Tear  it  in  pieces,  0  Fool,  and  the  wind  to  her 

mate  shall  return  it ! 
If  there  be  trouble  to  Herward,  and  a  lie  of  the 

blackest  can  clear, 
Lie,  while  thy  lips  can  move  or  a  man  is  alive  to 

hear. 

XVI. 

My  Son,  if  a  maiden  deny  thee  and  scufflingly  bid 
thee  give  o'er, 


CERTAIN   MAXIMS    OF    HAFIZ.  183 

Yet  lip  meets  with  lip  at  the  last  ward — get  out ! 

She  has  been  there  before. 
They  are  pecked  on  the  ear  and  the  chin  and  the 

nose  who  are  lacking  in  lore. 

XVII. 

I£  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the  hoof- 
slide  is  scarred  on  the  course. 

Though  Allah  and  Earth  pardon  Sin,  remaineth 
forever  Remorse. 

XVIII. 

"  By  all  I  am  misunderstood  ! "   if  the  Matron 

shall  say,  or  the  Maid  : — 
"  Alas  !     I  do  not  understand,"  my  son,  be  thou 

nowise  afraid. 
In  vain  in  the  sight  of  the  Bird  is  the  net  of  the 

Fowler  displayed. 

XIX. 

My  son,  if  I,  Hafiz,  thy  father,  take  hold  of  thy 
knees  in  my  pain, 


184  OTHER    VERSES. 

Demanding  thy  name  on  stamped  paper,  one  day 

or  one  hour — refrain. 
Are  the  links  of  thy  fetters  so  light  that  thou 

cravest  another  man's  chain  ? 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD.   185 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD. 

THERE'S  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 
Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 

There's  a  grave  on  the  Pdbeng  River, 
A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 

And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 

A  Snider  squibbed  in  the  jungle, 

Somebody  laughed  and  fled, 
And  the  men  of  the  first  Shikaris 

Picked  up  their  Subaltern  dead, 
With  a  big  blue  mark  in  his  forehead 

And  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 
Jemadar  Pira  Lai, 


186  OTHER    VERSES. 

Took  command  of  the  party, 

Twenty  rifles  in  all, 
Marched  them  down  to  the  river 

As  the  day  was  beginning  to  fall. 

They  buried  the  boy  by  the  river, 

A  blanket  over  his  face — 
They  wept  for  their  dead  Lieutenant, 

The  men  of  an  alien  race — 
They  made  a  samddh  in  his  honor, 

A  mark  for  his  resting-place. 

For  they  swore  by  the  Holy  Water, 
They  swore  by  the  salt  they  ate, 

That  the  soul  of  Lieutenant  Eshmitt  Sahib 
Should  go  to  his  God  in  state ; 

With  fifty  file  of  Burman 
To  open  him  Heaven's  gate. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Marched  till  the  break  of  day, 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD.   187 

Till  they  came  to  the  rebel  village, 
The  village  of  the  Pabengmay — 

A  jingal  covered  the  clearing, 
Calthrops  hampered  the  way. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Bidding  them  load  with  ball, 

Halted  a  dozen  rifles 
Under  the  village  wall ; 

Sent  out  a  flanking-party 
With  Jemadar  Hira  Lai. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Shouted  and  smote  and  slew, 

Turning  the  grinning  jingal 
On  to  the  howling  crew. 

The  Jemadar's  flanking-party 
Butchered  the  folk  who  flew. 

Long  was  the  morn  of  slaughter, 
Long  was  the  list  of  slain. 


188  OTHER    VERSES. 

Five  score  heads  were  taken, 

Five  score  heads  and  twain ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  to  their  grave  again, 

Each  man  bearing  a  basket 

Red  as  his  palms  that  day. 
Red  as  the  blazing  villag  e — 

The  village  of  Pabengmay. 
And  the  "  drip-drip-drip  "  from  the  baskets 

Reddened  the  grass  by  the  way. 

They  made  a  pile  of  their  trophies 

High  as  a  tall  man's  chin, 
Head  upon  head  distorted, 

Set  in  a  sightless  grin, 
Anger  and  pain  and  terror 

Stamped  on  the  smoke-scorched  skin. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Put  the  head  of  the  Boh 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD.   189 

On  the  top  of  the  mound  of  triumph, 

The  head  of  his  son  below. 
With  the  sword  and  the  peacock-banner 

That  the  world  might  behold  and  know. 

Thus  the  samddh  was  perfect, 

Thus  was  the  lesson  plain 
Of  the  wrath  of  the  First  Shikaris — 

The  price  of  a  white  man  slain ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  into  camp  again. 

»• 

Then  a  silence  came  to  the  river, 

A  hush  fell  over  the  shore, 
And  Bohs  that  were  brave  departed, 
And  Sniders  squibbed  no  more  ; 
For  the  Burmans  said 
That  a  kullaKs  head 
Must  be  paid  for  with  heads  five  score. 

There's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 
Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 


190  OTHER    VERSES. 

There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 
A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun. 

And  there's  Siibadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


THE  MOON  OF  OTHER  DAYS.       191 


THE  MOON  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

BENEATH  the  deep  veranda's  shade, 

When  bats  begin  to  fly, 
I  sit  me  down  and  watch — alas ! — 

Another  evening  die. 
Blood-red  behind  the  sere  fer ash 

She  rises  through  the  haze. 
Sainted  Diana  !  can  that  be 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days? 

Ah  !  shade  of  little  Kitty  Smith, 

Sweet  Saint  of  Kensington  ! 
Say,  was  it  ever  thus  at  Home 

The  Moon  of  August  shone, 
When  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  long 

Through  Putney's  evening  haze, 
And  Hammersmith  was  Heaven  beneath 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days  ? 


192  OTHER    VERSES. 

But  Wandle's  stream  is  Sutlej  now, 

And  Putney's  evening  haze 
The  dust  that  half  a  hundred  kine 

Before  my  window  raise. 
Unkempt,  unclean,  athwart  the  mist 

The  seething  city  looms, 
In  place  of  Putney's  golden  gorse 

The  sickly  babul  blooms. 

Glare  down,  old  Hecate,  through  the  dust, 

And  bid  the  pie-dog  yell, 
Draw  from  the  drain  its  typhoid-germ, 

From  each  bazaar  its  smell ; 
Yea,  suck  the  fever  from  the  tank 

And  sap  my  strength  therewith  : 
Thank  Heaven,  you  show  a  smiling  face 

To  little  Kitty  Smith ! 


THE    OVERLAND    MAIL.  193 

THE  OVERLAND  MAIL. 

(Foot-Service  to  the  Hills.) 

IN  the  name  of   the   Empress    of   India,    make 

way, 

0  Lords  of  the  Jungle,  wherever  you  roam. 
The  woods  are  astir  at  the  close  of  the  day — 

We  exiles  are  waiting  for  letters  from  Home. 
Let  the  robber  retreat — let  the  tiger  turn  tail — 
In   the    Name    of    the    Empress,  the    Overland 
Mail! 

With  a  jingle  of  bells  as  the  dusk  gathers  in, 
He  turns  to  the  foot-path  that  heads  up  the 

hill- 

The  bags  on  his  back  and  a  cloth  round  his  chin, 
And,  tucked  in  his  waist-belt,  the  Post  Office 

bill:— 

"  Despatched  on  this  date,  as  received  by  the  rail, 
Per  runner,  two  bags  of  the  Overland  Mail." 


194  OTHER    VERSES. 

Is  the  torrent  in  spate  ?     He  must   ford  it  or 

swim. 
Has    the  rain  wrecked  the   road  ?     He  must 

climb  by  the  cliff. 
Does    the    tempest    cry    "Halt"?      What    are 

tempests  to  him  ? 

The  Service  admits  not  a  "  but"  or  an  "  if." 
While  the  breath's  in  his  mouth,  he  must  bear 

without  fail, 
In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail. 

•t 
From  aloe  to  rose-oak,  from  rose-oak  to  fir, 

From  level  to  upland,  from  upland  to  crest, 
From  rice-field  to  rock-ridge,  from  rock-ridge  to 

spur, 
Fly  the  soft  sandaled  feet,  strains  the  brawny 

brown  chest. 
From  rail   to    ravine — to    the    peak    from    the 

vale — 

Up,  up    through  the    night  goes  the   Overland 
Mail. 


THE    OVERLAND    MAIL.  195 

There's    a  speck   on  the  hillside,   a  dot  on   the 

road — 

A  jingle  of  bells  on  the  foot-path  below — 
There's  a  scuffle  above  in  the  monkey's   abode — 
The  world  is  awake,  and  the  clouds  are  aglow. 
For   the  great  Sun  himself  must  attend  to   the 

hail  :- 

"  In   the  name    of   the   Empress,  the    Overland 
Mail ! " 


196  OTHEB   VEESES. 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAID. 

(June  21st,  1887.) 

BY  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

Silent  and  blind  and  slow — 

By  the  field  where  the  young  corn  dies 

In  the  face  of  the  sultry  skies, 

They  have  heard,  as  the  dull  Earth  hears 

The  voice  of  the  wind  of  an  hour, 

The  sound  of  the  Great  Queen's  voice : — 

"  My  God  hath  given  me  years, 

Hath  granted  dominion  and  power : 

And  I  bid  you,  0  Land,  rejoice." 

And  the  plowman  settles  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  grudging  clod ; 
For  he  saith  :  "  The  wheat  is  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. 
"  He  sent  the  Mahratta  spear 
As  He  sendeth  the  rain, 


WHAT    THE    PEOPLE    SAID.  197 

And  the  Mlech,  in  the  fated  year, 

Broke  the  spear  in  twain, 

And  was  broken  in  turn.     Who  knows 

How  our  Lords  make  strife  ? 

It  is  good  that  the  young  wheat  grows, 

For  the  bread  is  Life." 

Then,  far  and  near,  as  the  twilight  drew, 

Hissed  up  to  the  scornful  dark 
Great  serpents,  blazing,  of  red  and  blue, 
That  rose  and  faded,  and  rose  anew, 

That  the  Land  might  wonder  and  mark 
"  To-day  is  a  day  of  days,"  they  said, 
"  Make  merry,  0  People,  all !  " 
And  the  Plowman  listened  and  bowed  his  head : — 
"  To-day  and  to-morrow  God's  will,"  he  said, 
As  he  trimmed  the  lamps  on  the  wall. 

"  He  sendeth  us  years  that  are  good, 
As  He  sendeth  the  dearth. 
He  giveth  to  each  man  his  food, 
Or  Her  food  to  the  Earth. 


198  OTHER    VERSES. 

Our  Kings  and  our  Queens  are  afar — 
On  their  peoples  be  peace — 
God  bringeth  the  rain  to  the  Bar, 
That  our  cattle  increase." 

And  the  Plowman  settled  the  share 

More  deep  in  the  sun-dried  clod  : — 

"  Mogul,  Mahratta,  and  Mlech  from  the  North, 

And  White  Queen  over  the  Seas — 

God  raiseth  them  up  and  driveth  them  forth 

As   the    dust     of    the   plowshare    flies    in    the 

breeze ; 

But  the  wheat  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God." 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE.  199 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE. 

"  To-tschin-shu    is    condemned  to  death.      How  can    he 
drink  tea  with  the  Executioner  ?  " — Japanese  Proverb. 

THE  eldest  son  bestrides  him, 

And  the  pretty  daughter  rides  him, 

And  I  meet  him  oft  o'  mornings  on  the  Course ; 

And  there  wakens  in  my  bosom 

An  emotion  chill  and  gruesome 

As  I  canter  past  the  Undertaker's  Horse. 

Neither  shies  he  nor  is  restive, 
But  a  hideously  suggestive 
Trot,  professional  and  placid,  he  affects ; 
And  the  cadence  of  his  hoof-beats 
To  my  mind,  this  grim  reproof  beats  : — 
"  Mend  your  pace,  my  friend,  I'm  coming.  Who's 
the  next  ?  " 


200  OTHER,    VERSES. 

Ah  !  £tud-bred  of  ill-omen, 

I  have  watched  the  strongest  go — men 

Of  pith  and  might  and  muscle — at  your  heels, 

Down  the  plantain-bordered  highway, 

(Heaven  send  it  ne'er  be  my  way ! ) 

In  a  lacquered  box  and  jetty  upon  wheels. 

Answer,  somber  beast  and  dreary, 

Where  is  Brown,  the  young,  the  cheery, 

Smith,  the  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  half  the 

Force  ? 

You  were  at  that  last  dread  dak 
We  must  cover  at  a  walk, 
Bring  them  back  to  me,  0  Undertaker's  Horse  ! 

With  your  mane  unhogged  and  flowing, 

And  your  curious  way  of  going, 

And  that  business-like  black  crimping  of  your 

tail, 
E'en  with  Beauty  on  your  back,  sir, 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE.  201 

Pacing  as  a  lady's  hack,  Sir, 

What  wonder  when  I  meet  you  I  turn  pale  ? 


It  may  be  you  wait  your  time,  Beast, 

Till  I  write  my  last  bad  rhyme,  Beast, 

Quit   the  sunlight,  cut    the   rhyming,   drop  the 

glass, 

Follow  after  with  the  others, 
Where  some  dusky  heathen  smothers 
Us  with  marigolds  in  lieu  of  English  grass. 

Or,  perchance,  in  years  to  follow, 

I  shall  watch  your  plump  sides  hollow, 

See  Carnifex  (gone  lame)  become  a  corse, 

See  old  age  at  last  o'erpower  you, 

And  the  Station  Pack  devour  you, 

I  shall  chuckle  then,  0  Undertaker's  Horse ! 

But  to  insult,  gibe,  and  quest,  I've 
Still  the  hideously  suggestive 


202  OTHER    VERSES. 

Trot  that   hammers  out  the   grim  and  warning 

text, 

And  I  hear  it  hard  behind  me, 
In  what  place  soe'er  I  find  me  : — 
"  Sure  to  catch  you  sooner  or  later.      Who's  the 

next?" 


THE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GILLESPIE.      203 


THE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GILLESPIE. 

THIS  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done — 
'Twixt  the  first  an'  the  second  rub — 

That  oor  man  Jock  cam'  hame  again 
To  his  rooms  ahint  the  Club. 


An'  syne  he  laughed,  an'  syne  he  sang, 
An'  syne  we  thocht  him  fou, 

An'  syne  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick, 
An'  garred  his  partner  rue. 


Then  up  and  spake  an  elder  mon, 

That  held  the  Spade  its  Ace — 
u  God  save  the  lad !     Whence  comes  the  licht 

That  wimples  on  his  face  ?  " 


204  OTHER    VERSES. 

An'  Jock  he  sniggered,  an'  Jock  he  smiled, 
An'  ower  the  card-brim  wunk  : — 

"  I'm  a'  too  fresh  fra'  the  stirrup-peg, 
May  be  that  I  am  drunk." 


"  There's  whusky  brewed  in  Galashiels, 
An'  L.  L.  L.  f  orbye  ; 

But  never  liquor  lit  the  low 

* 

That  keeks  fra'  oot  your  eye. 


"  There's  a  thrid  o'  hair  on  your  dress-coat  breast, 

Aboon  the  heart  a  wee?" 
"  Oh  !  that  is  fra'  the  lang-haired  Skye 

That  slobbers  ower  me." 


"  Oh  !  lang-haired  Skyes  are  lovin'  beasts, 

An'  terrier  dogs  are  fair, 

But  never  yet  was  terrier  born 

Wi'  ell-lang  gowden  hair  ! 


THE    FALL    OF    JOCK    GILLESPIB.  205 

"  There's  a  smirch  o'  pouther  on  your  breast, 

Below  the  left  lappel  ?  " 
"  Oh  !  that  is  fra'  my  auld  cigar, 

Whenas  the  stump-end  fell." 


"  Mon  Jock,  ye  smoke  the  Trichi  coarse, 

For  ye  are  short  o'  cash, 
An'  best  Havanas  couldna  leave 

Sae  white  an'  pure  an  ash. 


"  This  nicht  ye  stopped  a  story  braid, 
An'  stopped  it  wi'  a  curse — 

Last  nicht  ye  told  that  tale  yoursel, 
An'  capped  it  wi'  a  worse ! 


"  Oh  !  we're  no  f  ou !     Oh !      we're  no  f  ou ! 

But  plainly  we  can  ken 
Ye're  fallin,'  falling  fra  the  band 

0'  cantie  single  men  !  " 


206  OTHER    VERSES. 

An'  it  fell  when  sirHs-shaws  were  sere, 
An'  the  nichts  were  lang  and  mirk, 

In  braw  new  breeks,  wi'  a  gowden  ring, 
Oor  Jockie  gaed  to  the  Kirk. 


ARITHMETIC    ON    THE    FRONTIER.  207 


ARITHMETIC  ON  THE  FRONTIER. 

A  GREAT  and  glorious  thing  it  is 
To  learn,  for  seven  years  or  so, 

The  Lord  knows  what  of  that  and  this. 
Ere  reckoned  fit  to  face  the  foe — 

The  flying  bullet  down  the  Pass, 

That  whistles  clear  :    "  All  flesh  is  grass." 

Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  spent 
On  making  brain  and  body  meeter 

For  all  the  murderous  intent 

Comprised  in  "  villanous  saltpetre  !  " 

And  after — ask  the  Yusufzaies 

What  comes  of  all  our  'ologies. 

A  scrimmage  in  a  Border  Station  — 
A  canter  down  some  dark  defile — 


208  OTHER    VERSES. 

Two  thousand  pounds  of  education 

Drops  to  a  ten-rupee  jezail — 
The  Crammer's  boast,  the  Squadron's  pride, 
Shot  like  a  rabbit  in  a  ride ! 

No  proposition  Euclid  wrote, 

No  formulae  the  text  books  know, 

Will  turn  the  bullet  from  your  coat, 
Or  ward  the  tulwar's  downward  blow. 

Strike  hard  who  cares — shoot  straight  who  can- 

The  odds  are  on  the  cheaper  man. 

One  sword-knot  stolen  from  the  camp 
Will  pay  for  all  the  school  expenses 

Of  any  Kurrum  Valley  scamp 

Who  knows  no  word  or  moods  and  tenses, 

But,  being  blessed  with  perfect  sight, 

Picks  off  our  messmates  left  and  right. 

With  home-bred  hordes  the  hill-sides  teem, 
The  troop-ships  bring  us  one  by  one, 


ARITHMETIC    ON    THE    FRONTIER.  209 

At  vast  expense  of  time  and  steam, 
To  slay  Afridis  where   they  run. 
The  "  captives  of  our  bow  and  spear  " 

Are  cheap — alas  !  as  we  are  dear. 
14 


210  OTHER   VEESES. 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS. 

(Lord  Dufferin  to  Lord  Lansdowne.) 

So  here's  your  Empire.      No  more  wine,  then  ? 

Good. 

We'll  clear  the  Aides  and  khitmatgars  away. 
(You'll  know  that  fat  old  fellow  with  the  knife — 
He  keeps  the  Name  Book,  talks  in  English  too. 
And  almost  thinks  himself  the  Government.) 

0  Youth,  Youth,  Youth  !     Forgive  me,  you're  so 

young. 

Forty  from  sixty — twenty  years  of  work 
And  power  to  back  the  working.     A  y  de  mi  ! 
You  want  to  know,  you  want  to  see,  to  touch, 
And,  by  your  lights,  to  act.     It's  natural. 

1  wonder  can  I  help  you.     Let  me  try. 

You  saw — what  did  you  see  from  Bombay  east  ? 
Enough  to  frighten  any  one  but  me  ? 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  211 

Neat  that  !     It  frightened  Me  in  Eighty-Four  ! 
You  shouldn't  take  a  man  from  Canada 
And  bid  him  smoke  in  powder  magazines  ; 
Nor  with  a  Reputation  such  as — Bah  ! 
That  ghost  has  haunted  me  for  twenty  years, 
My   Reputation  now  full  blown — Your  fault — 
Yours,  with  your  stories  of  the   strife  at  Home, 
Who's    up,  who's  down,  who  leads  and    who  is 

led- 

One  reads  so  much,  one  hears  so  little  here. 
Well,  now's  your  turn  of  exile.     I  go  back 
To  Rome  and  leisure.     All  roads  lead  to  Rome, 
Or  books — the  refuge  of  the  destitute. 
When   you  .  .  .  that   brings    me  back  to   India 

See !  . 

Start  clear.    I  couldn't.    Egypt  served  my  turn. 
You'll  never  plumb  the  Oriental  mind, 
And  if  you  did  it  isn't  worth  the  toil. 
Think  of  a  sleek  French  priest  in  Canada ; 
Divide  by  twenty  half-breeds.     Multiply 
By  twice  the  Sphinx's  silence.     There's  your  East, 


212  OTHER    VERSES. 

And  you're  as  wise  as  ever.     So  am  I. 

Accept  on  trust  and  work  in  darkness,  strike 
At  venture,  stumble  forward,  make  your  mark, 
(It's  chalk  on  granite),  then  thank  God  no  flame 
Leaps  from  the  rock  to  shrivel  mark  and  man. 
I'm  clear — my  mark  is  made.     Three  months  of 

drought 

Had  ruined  much.     It  rained  and  washed  away 
The  specks  that  might   have   gathered  on   my 

Name. 

I  took  a  country  twice  the  size  of  France, 
And  shuttered  up  one  doorway  in  the  North. 
I  stand  by  those.     You'll  find  that  both  will  pay, 
I   pledged   my    Name    on    both — they're    yours 

to-night. 

Hold  to  them — they  hold  fame  enough  for  two. 
I'm  old,  but  I  shall  live  till  Burma  pays. 
Men     there — not     German    traders — Cr-sthw-te 

knows — 

You'll  find  it  in  my  papers.     For  the  North 
Guns  always — quietly — but  always  guns. 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  213 

You've  seen  your  Council?     Yes,  they'll  try  to 

rule, 

And  prize  their  Reputations.     Have  you  met 
A  grim  lay-reader  with  a  taste  for  coins, 
And   faith    in    Sin    most    men    withhold    from 

God? 

He's  gone  to  England.     R-p-n  knew  his  grip 
And  kicked.     A  Council  always  has  its  H-pes. 
They  look  for  nothing  from  the  West  but  Death 
Or  Bath  or  Bournemouth.     Here's  their  ground. 

They  fight 

Until  the  middle  classes  take  them  back, 
One  of  ten  millions  plus  a  C.  S.  I. 
Or  ^rop  in  harness.     Legion  of  the  Lost? 
Not  altogether — earnest,  narrow  men, 
But  chiefly  earnest,  and  they'll  do  your  work, 
And  end  by  writing  letters  to  the  Times. 
(Shall  /  write  letters,  answering  H-nt-r — fawn 
With  R-p-n  on  the  Yorkshire  grocers  ?     Ugh  !) 
They  have  their  Reputations.     Look  to  one — 
I  work  with  him — the  smallest  of  them  all, 


214  OTHER    VERSES. 

White-haired,  red-faced,  who   sat  the   plunging 

horse 

Out  in  the  garden.     He's  your  right-hand  man, 
And  dreams  of  tilting  W— Is— y  from  the  throne, 
But  while  he  dreams  gives  work  we  cannot  buy; 
He  has  his  Reputation — wants  the  Lords 
By  way  of  Frontier  Roads.     Meantime,  I  think, 
He  values  very  much  the  hand  that  falls 
Upon  his  shoulder  at  the  Council  table — 
Hates   cats  and  knows   his  business :    which  is 

yours. 

Your  business !     Twice  a  hundred  million  souls. 
Your  business !     I  could  tell  you  what  I  did 
Some  nights  of  Eighty-Five,  at  Simla,  worth^ 
A  Kingdom's  ransom.      When  a  big  ship  drives, 
God  knowrs  to  what  new  reef  the   man   at  the 

wheel 

Prays  with  the  passengers.     They  lose  their  lives, 
Or  rescued  go  their  way ;  but  he's  no  man 
To  take   his  trick    at   the   wheel   again — that's 

worse 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  215 

Than  drowning.     Well,  a  galled  Mashobra  mule 
(You'll  see  Mashobra)  passed  me  on  the  Mall, 
And  I  was — some  fool's  wife  had  ducked  and 

bowed 

To  show  the  others  I  would  stop  and  speak. 
Then  the  mule  fell — three  galls,  a  hand-breadth 

each, 

Behind  the  withers.     Mrs.  Whatsisname 
Leers    at   the    mule    and    me    by    turns,  thweet 

thoul ! 

"  How  could  they  make  him  carry  such  a  load !  " 
I  saw — it  isn't  often  I  dream  dreams — 
More  than    the  mule    that   minute — smoke  and 

flame 

From  Simla  to  the  haze  below.     That's  weak. 
You're  younger.     You'll  dream    dreams  before 

you've  done. 
You've  youth,  that's  one — good  workmen — that 

means  two 

Fair  chances  in  your  favor.     Fate's  the  third. 
I  know  what  /  did.     Do  you  ask  me,  "  Preach  "  ? 


216  OTHER    VERSES. 

I  answer  by  my  past  or  else  go  back 

To  platitudes  of  rule — or  take  you  thus 

In  confidence  and  say : — "  You  know  the  trick  : 

You've    governed    Canada.     You    know.      You 

know !  " 

And  all  the  while  commend  you  to  Fate's  hand 
(Here  at  the  top  one  loses  sight  o'  God), 
Commend    you,  then,  to    something  more   than 

you— 

The  Other  People's  blunders  and  .  .  .  that's  all. 
I'd  agonize  to  serve  you  if  I  could. 
It's  incommunicable,  like  the  cast 
That  drops  the  tackle  with  the  gut  adry. 
Too  much — too  little — there's  your  salmon  lost ! 
And  so  I  tell  you  nothing — wish  you  luck, 
And  wonder — how  I  wonder  ! — for  your  sake 
And  triumph  for  my  own.     You're  young,  you're 

young, 

You  hold  to  half  a  hundred  Shibboleths. 
I'm  old.     I  followed  Power  to  the  last, 
Gave  her  my  best,  and  Power  followed  Me. 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  217 

It's  worth  it — on  my  soul  I'm  speaking  plain, 

Here  by  the  claret  glasses ! — worth  it  all. 

I  gave — no  matter  what  I  gave — I  win. 

I  know  I  win.     Mine's  wort,  good   work  that 

live ! 

A  country  twice  the  size  of  France — the  North 
Safeguarded.     That's  my  record  :  sink  the  rest 
And  better  if  you  can.     The  Rains  may  serve, 
Rupees    may    rise — three   pence    will   give   you 

Fame — 

It's  rash  to  hope  for  sixpence — If  they  rise 
Get  guns,  more  guns,  and  lift  the  salt-tax. 

Oh! 

I  told  you  what  the  Congress  meant  or  thought? 
I'll  answer  nothing.     Half  a  year  will  prove 
The  full  extent  of  time  and  thought  you'll  spare 
To  Congress.     Ask  a  Lady  Doctor  once 
How  little  Begums  see  the  light — deduce 
Thence  how  the  True  Reformer's  child  is  born. 
It's  interesting,  curious  .  .  .  and  vile. 
I  told  the  Turk  he  was  a  gentleman. 


218  OTHER    VERSES. 

I  told  the  Russian  that  his  Tartar  veins 
Bled  pure  Parisian  ichor  ;  and  he  purred. 
The  Congress  doesn't  purr.     I  think  it  swears. 
You're  young — you'll  swear  too  ere  you've  reached 

the  end. 

The  End  !     God  help  you,  if  there  be  a  God. 
(There  must  be  one  to  startle  Gl-dst-ne's  soul 
In  that  new  land  where  all  the  wires  are  cut, 
And  Cr-ss  snores  anthems  on  the  asphodel.) 
God  help  you  !     And  I'd  help  you  if  I  could, 
But  that's  beyond  me.     Yes,   your  speech  was 

crude. 

Sound  claret  after  olives — yours  and  mine  ; 
But  Medoc  slips  into  vin  ordinaire. 
(I'll  drink  my  first  at  Genoa  to  your  health.) 
Raise  it  to  Hock.     You'll  never  catch  my  style. 
And,  after  all,  the  middle-classes  grip 
The    middle-class — for     Brompton    talk    Earl's 

Court. 
Perhaps    you're    right.      I'll    see    you    in    the 

Times — 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  219 

A  quarter-column  of  eye-searing  print, 
A  leader  once  a  quarter — then  a  war  ; 
The    Strand    abellow   through   the   fog :    "  De- 
feat !  " 

"  'Orrible  slaughter  !  "     While  you  lie  awake 
And    wonder.       Oh>,    you'll    wonder    ere    you're 

free ! 

I  wonder  now.     The  four  years  slide  away 
So  fast,  so  fast,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 
R — y,  C-lv-n,  L — 1,  R-b-rts,  B-ck,  the  rest, 
Princes    and    Powers    of    Darkness,    troops    and 

trains, 

(I  cannot  sleep  in  trains),  land  piled  on  land, 
Whitewash  and  weariness,  red  rockets,  dust, 
White    snows    that    mocked    me,    palaces — with 

draughts, 

And  W-stl-nd  with  the  drafts  he  couldn't  pay, 
Poor  W— Is— n  reading  his  obituary 
Before    he    died,    and    H-pe,    the    man    with 

bones, 
And  A-tch-s-n  a  dripping  mackintosh 


220  OTHER    VERSES. 

At  Council  in  the  Rains,  his  grating  "  Sirrr  " 
Half   drowned    by   H-nt-r's    silky  : — "  Bat   my 

lahd." 

Hunterian  always  :  M-rsh-1  spinning  plates 
Or  standing  on  his  head ;  the  Rent  Bill's  roar, 
A  hundred  thousand  speeches,  much  red  cloth, 
And  Smiths  thrice  happy  if  I  call  them  Jones, 
(I  can't  remember  half  their  names)  or  reined 
My  pony  on  the  Mall  to  greet  their  wives. 
More  trains,  more  troops,  more   dust,   and  then 

all's  done. 

Four  years,  and  I  forget.     If  I  forget 
How  will   they  bear  me  in  their  minds  ?     The 

North 

Safeguarded — nearly  (R-b-rts  knows  the  rest), 
A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  annexed. 
That  stays  at  least.      The  rest  may  pass — may 

pass — > 

Your  heritage — and  I  can  teach  you  nought. 
"  High  trust,"  "vast  honor,"  "  interests  twice  as 

vast," 


ONE    VICEROY    RESIGNS.  221 

"  Due    reverence    to    your   Council " — keep   to 

those. 

I  envy  you  the  twenty  years  you've  gained, 
But  not  the  five  to  follow.     What's  that  ?    One  ? 
Two  ! — Surely  not  so  late.     Good  night.     Don't 

dream. 


222  OTHER    VERSES. 


THE  BETROTHED. 

"  You  must  choose  between  me  and  your  cigar." 

OPEN  the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba  stout, 
For  things  are  running  crossways,    and  Maggie 
and  I  are  out. 


We  quarreled  about  Havanas — we  fought  o'er  a 

good  cheroot, 
And  I  know  she  is  exacting,  and  she  says  I  am 

a  brute. 


Open    the    old    cigar-box — let    me    consider    a 

space  ; 
In  the  soft  blue  veil   of  the   vapor,  musing  on 

Maggie's  face. 


THE    BETROTHED.  223 

Maggie  is  pretty  to  look  at — Maggie's  a  loving 

lass. 
But  the  prettiest  cheeks  must  wrinkle,  the  truest 

of  loves  must  pass. 


There's  peace  in  a  Laranaga,  there's  calm  in  a 

Henry  Clay? 
But  the  best  cigar  in  an  hour  is  finished  and 

thrown  away — 


Thrown  away  for  another  as  perfect  and  ripe  and 

brown — 
But  I  could  not  throw  away  Maggie  for  fear  o' 

the  talk  o'  the  town  ! 


Maggie,  my  wife  at  fifty — gray  and  dour  and 

old- 
With  never  another  Maggie  to  purchase  for  love 

or  gold ! 


224  OTHER    VERSES. 

And  the  light  of  Days  that  have  Been  the  dark 

of  the  Days  that  Are, 
And  Love's  torch   stinking   and  stale,  like  the 

butt  of  a  dead  cigar — 


The  butt  of  a  dead  cigar  you  are  bound  to  keep 

in  your  pocket — 
With  never  a  new  one  to  light  tho'  it's  charred 

and  black  to  the  socket. 


Open    the    old    cigar-box — let    me    consider    a 

while — 
Here    is    a    mild    Manilla — there    is    a    wifely 

smile. 


Which   is  the   better  portion — bondage   bought 

with  a  ring, 
Or  a  harem   of  dusky  beauties  fifty  tied  in  a 

string  ? 


THE    BETROTHED.  225 

Counselors  cunning  and  silent — comforters  true 

and  tried. 
And  never  a  one  of  the  fifty  to  sneer  at  a  rival 

bride. 


Thought  in  the  early  morning,  solace  in  time  of 

woes, 

Peace  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  balm  ere  my 
•  eyelids  close. 


This  will  the  fifty  give  me,  asking  nought   in 

return, 
With  QvljB,$uttee*8  passion — to  do  their  duty 

and  burn. 


This   will   the    fifty  give  me.     When    they  are 

spent  and  dead, 
Five   times   other    fifties    shall    be   my    servants 

instead. 


226  OTHER    VERSES. 

The  furrows   of   far-off  Java,   the   isles   of   the 

Spanish  Main, 
When  they  hear  my  harem  is  empty,  will  send 

me  my  brides  again. 


I  will  take  no  heed  to  their  raiment,  nor  food 

for  their  mouths  withal, 
So  long  as  the  gulls  are  nesting,  so  long  as  the 

showers  fall. 


I  will  scent  'em  with  best  vanilla,  with  tea  will 

I  temper  their  hides, 
And  the  Moor  and  the  Mormon  shall  envy  who 

read  of  the  tale  of  my  brides. 


For  Maggie  has  written  a  letter  to  give  me  my 

choice  between 
The  wee  little  whimpering  Love  and  the  great 

god  Nick  o'  Teen, 


THE    BETROTHED.  227 

And  I  have  been  servant  of  Love  for  barely  a 

twelvemonth  clear, 
But  I  have  been  Priest  of  Partagas  a  matter  of 

seven  year ; 


And  the  gloom  of  my  bachelor  days  is  flecked 

with  the  cheery  light 
Of   stumps    that   I   burned    to    Friendship    and 

Pleasure  and  Work  and  Fight. 


And  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  future  that  Maggie 

and  I  must  prove, 
But  the  only  light  on  tha  marshes  is  the  Will- 

o'-the-Wisp  of  Love. 


Will  it  see  me  safe  through  my  journey,  or 
leave  me  bogged  in  the  mire  ? 

Since  a  puff  of  tobacco  can  cloud  it,  shall  I 
follow  the  fitful  fire? 


228  OTHER    VERSES. 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  anew — - 
Old  friends,  and  who  is  Maggie  that  I   should 
abandon  you? 


A  million  surplus  Maggies  are  willing  to  bear 

the  yoke ; 
And  a  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good  cigar 

is  a  Smoke. 


Light  me  another  Cuba ;  I  hold  to  my  first-sworn 

vows, 
If   Maggie    will    have    no    rival,    I'll    have    no 

Maggie  for  spouse! 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  229 


A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

WHERE  the  sober-colored  cultivator  smiles 

On  his  byles  ; 
Where  the  cholera,  the  cyclone,  and  the  crow 

Come  and  go ; 
Where  the  merchant  deals  in  indigo  and  tea, 

Hides  and  glii ; 
Where  the  Babu  drops  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints ; 
Stands  a  City— Charnock  chose  it — packed  away 

Near  a  Bay — 
By  the  sewage  rendered  fetid,  by  the  sewer 

Made  impure, 
By  the  Sunderbunds  unwholesome,  by  the  swamp 

Moist  and  damp ; 
And  the  City  and  the  Viceroy,  as  we  see, 

Don't  agree. 


230  OTHER    VERSES. 

Once,  two  hundred  years  ago,  the  trader  came, 

Meek  and  tame, 

Where    his    timid    foot    first   halted,    there    he 
stayed, 

Till  mere  trade 
Grew  to  Empire,  and  he  sent  his  armies  forth 

South  and  North 
Till  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  his  own. 

Thus  the  mid-day  halt  of  Charnock — rnore's  the 
pity! 

Grew  a  City. 
As  the  fungus  sprouts  chaotic  from  its  bed, 

So  it  spread — 
Chance-directed,  chance-erected,  laid  and  built 

On  the  silt — 
Palace,  byre,  hovel — poverty  and  pride — 

Side  by  side ; 

And,     above     the      packed     and     pestilential 
town, 

Death  looked  down. 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  231 

But  the  Rulers  in  that  City  by  the  Sea 

Turned  to  flee — 
Fled,  with  each  returning  spring-tide  from  its  ills 

To  the  Hills. 

From   the   clammy  fogs   of  morning,   from  the 
blaze 

Of  the  days, 
From  the  sickness  of  the  noontide,  from  the  heat, 

Beat  retreat ; 
For  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  their  own. 
But  the  Merchant  risked  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 

Now  the  resting-place  of  Charnock,  'neath  the 
palms, 

Asks  an  alms, 
And  the  burden  of  its  lamentation  is, 

Briefly,  this  : — 
"  Because,  for  certain  months,  we  boil  and  stew. 

So  should  you. 


232  OTHER    VEKSES. 

Cast  the  Viceroy  and  his  Council,  to  perspire 

In  our  fire !  " 
And  for  answer  to  the  argument,  in  vain 

We  explain 
That  an  amateur  Saint  Lawrence  cannot  fry  : — 

"  All  must  fry  !  " 
That  the  Merchant  risks  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 

Nor    can    Rulers   rule  a  house  that  men    grow 
rich  in, 

From  its  kitchen. 

Let  the  Babu  drop  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints  ; 

And  mature — consistent  soul — his  plan  for  steal- 
ing 

To  Darjeeling : 
Let  the  Merchant  seek,  who  makes  his  silver  pile, 

England's  isle ; 
Let  the  City  Charnock  pitched  on — evil  day  I — - 

Go  Her  way. 


A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  233 

Though  the  argosies  of  Asia  at  Her  doors 

Heap  their  stores, 
Though  Her  enterprise  and  energy  secure 

Income  sure, 
Though  "  out-station  orders  punctually  obeyed  " 

Swell  Her  trade — 
Stilly  for  rule,  administration,  and  the  rest, 

Simla's  best. 


234  OTHER    VERSES. 


GRIFFEN'S  DEBT. 

IMPRIMIS  he  was  "  broke."     Thereafter  left 
His  regiment,  and,  later,  took  to  drink  ; 
Then,  having  lost  the  balance  of  his  friends, 
"  Went  Fantee  " — joined  the  people  of  the  land, 
Turned  three  parts  Mussulman  and  one  Hindu, 
And  lived  among  the  Gauri  villagers, 
Who  gave  him  shelter  and  a  wife  or  twain, 
And  boasted  that  a  thorough,  full-blood  sahib 
Had  come  among  them.     Thus  he  spent  his  time, 
Deeply  indebted  to  the  village  shroff, 
(Who  never  asked  for  payment)  always  drunk, 
Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels ; 
Forgetting  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 

You  know  they  dammed  the  Gauri  with  a  dam, 
And   all   the    good    contractors    scamped    their 
work, 


GRIFFEN'S  DEBT.  235 

And  all  the  bad  material  at  hand 

Was  used  to  dam  the  Gauri — which  was  cheap, 

And,  therefore,  proper.     Then  the  Gauri  burst, 

And  several  hundred  thousand  cubic  tons 

Of  water  dropped  into  the  valley,  flop, 

And  drowned  some  five  and  twenty  villagers, 

And  did  a  lakh  or  two  of  detriment 

To   crops    and   cattle.      When  the  flood   went 

down 

We  found  him  dead,  beneath  an  old  dead  horse, 
Full  six  miles  down  the  valley.     So  we  said 
He  was  a  victim  to  the  Demon  Drink, 
And  moralized  upon  him  for  a  week, 
And  then  forgot  him.     Which  was  natural. 

But,  in  the  valley  of  the  Gauri,  men 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  new  dam 
Relate  a  foolish  legend  of  the  flood, 
Accounting  for  the  little  loss  of  life 
(Only  those  five  and  twenty  villagers) 
In  this  wise  :  On  the  evening  of  the  flood, 


236  OTHER    VERSES. 

They  heard  the  groaning  of  the  rotten  dam, 
And  voices  of  the  Mountain  Devils.     Then 
An  incarnation  of  the  local  God, 
Mounted  upon  a  monster-neighing  horse, 
And  flourishing  a  flail-like  whip,  came  down, 
Breathing  ambrosia,  to  the  villages, 
And  fell  upon  the  simple  villagers 
With  yells  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  throat, 
And     blows     beyond     the     power     of     mortal 

hand, 
And   smote  them  with  the  flail-like   whip,   and 

drove 

Them  clamorous  with  terror  up  the  hill, 
And  scattered,  with  the  monster-neighing  steed, 
Their  crazy  cottages  about  their  ears, 
And  generally  cleared  those  villages. 
Then  came  the  water,  and  the  local  God, 
Breathing  ambrosia,  flourishing  his  whip, 
And  mounted  on  his  monster-neighing  steed, 
Went  down  the  valley  with  the  flying  trees 
And  residue  of  homesteads,  while  they  watched 


GKIFFEN'S  DEBT.  237 

Safe     on     the    mountain-side     these     wondrous 

things, 
And    knew    that    they    were  much  beloved    of 

Heaven. 

Wherefore,  and  when  the  dam  was  newly  built. 

They  raised  a  temple  to  the  local  God, 

And  burned  all  manner  of  unsavory  things 

Upon  his  altar,  and  created  priests, 

And  blew  into  a  conch,  and  banged  a  bell, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  Gauri  flood 

With  circumstance  and  much  embroidery. 

So  he  the  whiskified  Objectionable, 

Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels, 

Became  the  tutelary  Deity 

Of  all  the  Gauri  valley  villages  ; 

And  may  in  time  become  a  Solar  Myth. 


238  •    OTHER    VERSES. 


IN  SPRINGTIME. 

MY  garden  blazes   brightly  with  the  rose-bush 

and  the  peach. 
And  the  koil  sings  above  it,   in  the  sir  is  by 

the  well, 

From  the  creeper-covered  trellis  comes  the  squir- 
rel's chattering  speech, 
And  the  blue-jay  screams  and  flutters  where 

the  cheery  sat-bhai  dwell. 
But  the  rose  has  lost  its  fragrance,  and  the  kail's 

note  is  strange ; 

I  am  sick  of  endless  sunshine,  sick  of  blossom- 
burdened  bough. 
Give  me  back  the  leafless  woodlands  where  the 

winds  of  Springtime  range — 
Give  me  back  one  day  in  England,   for  it's 
Spring  in  England  now ! 


IN    SPRINGTIME.  239 

Through  the  pines  the  gusts  are  booming,   o'er 

the  brown  fields  blowing  chill, 
From  the  furrow  of  the  plowshare  streams  the 

fragrance  of  the  loam. 
And    the  hawk  nests   on  the   cliff-side  and  the 

jackdaw  in  the  hill, 
And  my  heart  is   back  in   England  mid  the 

sights  and  sounds  of  Home. 
But  the  garland  of  the   sacrifice  this  wealth  of 

rose  and  peach  is ; 
Ah  !  kail,  little    koil,    singing   on    the    sir  is 

bough, 

In  my  ears  the  knell  of  exile  your  ceaseless  bell- 
like  speech  is — 

Can  you  tell  me  aught  of  England  or  of  Spring 
in  England  now  ? 


240  OTHER    VERSES. 


TWO  MONTHS. 

IN    JUNE. 

No    hope,    no    change !  The  clouds  have  shut 

us  in 
And  through  the  clouds  the  sullen  Sun  strikes 

down 

Full  on  the  bosom  of  the  tortured  Town. 
Till  Night  falls  heavy  as  remembered  sin 
That  will  not  suffer  sleep  or  thought  of  ease. 
And,  hour   on   hour,  the   dry-eyed    Moon    in 

spite 
Glares  through  the    haze    and    mocks    with 

watery  light 
The  torment  of  the  uncomplaining  trees. 

Far  off,  the  Thunder  bellows  her  despair 
To  echoing  Earth,  thrice  parched.      The  light- 
nings fly 


TWO    MONTHS.  241 

In  vain.     No  help  the  heaped-up  clouds  afford, 
But  wearier  weight  of  burdened,  burning  air. 
What  truce  with  Dawn  ?     Look,  from  the  aching 

Day  stalks,  a  tyrant  with  a  flaming  sword  ! 


IN    SEPTEMBER. 

AT  dawn  there  was  a  murmur  in  the  trees, 

f 

A  ripple  on  the  tank,  and  in  the  air 
Presage     of     coming      coolness — every- 
where 

A  voice  of  prophecy  upon  the  breeze. 
Up  leapt  the  sun  and  smote  the  dust  to  gold, 

And  strove  to  parch  anew  the  heedless  land, 
All  impotently,  as  a  King  grown  old 

Wars    for    the    Empire   crumbling   'neath  his 
hand. 

One  after  one,  the  lotos-petals  fell, 

Beneath  the  onslaught  of  the  rebel  year 
16 


242  OTHER    VERSES. 

In  mutiny  against  a  furious  sky  ; 
And  far-off  Winter  whispered  :  "  It  is  well ! 
Hot  Summer  dies.     Behold,  your  help  is  near. 
For  when  men's  need  is  sorest,  then  come  I." 


THE    GALLEY-SLAVE.  243 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE. 

OH,  gallant    was   our    galley   from  her    carven 

steering-wheel 
To   her   figurehead    of  silver  and   her  beak  of 

hammered  steel ; 
The  leg-bar  chafed  the  ankle,  and  we  gasped  for 

cooler  air, 
But  no  galley  on  the  water  with  our  galley  could 

compare  1 


Our  bulkheads  bulged  with  cotton  and  our  masts 

were  stepped  in  gold — 
We  ran  a  mighty  merchandise  of  niggers  in  the 

hold  ; 


244  OTHER    VERSES. 

The  white  foam  spun  behind  us,  and  the  black 

shark  swam  below, 
As  we  gripped  the  kicking  sweep-head  and  we 

made  that  galley  go. 

It  was  merry  in  the  galley,  for  we  reveled  now 

and  then — 
If  they  wore  us  down  like  cattle,  faith,  we  fought 

and  loved  like  men  ! 
As  we  snatched  her  through  the  water,  so  we 

snatched  a  minute's  bliss, 
And  the  mutter  of  the  dying  never  spoiled  the 

lovers'  kiss. 

Our  women  and  our  children  toiled  beside  us  in 

the  dark — 
They  died,  we  filed  their  fetters,  and  we   heaved 

them  to  the  shark — 
We  heaved  them  to  the  fishes,   but  so  fast  the 

galley  sped, 
We  had  only  time  to   envy,  for  we  could   not 

mourn  our  dead. 


THE    GALLEY-SLAVE.  245 

Bear  witness,  once  my  comrades,  what  a  hard-bit 
gang  were  we — 

The  servants  of  the  sweep-head,  but  the  masters 
of  the  sea ! 

By  the  hands  that  drove  her  forward  as  she 
plunged  and  yawed  and  sheered. 

Woman,  Man,  or  God  or  Devil,  was  there  any- 
thing we  feared? 

Was    it   storm  ?      Our  fathers  faced   it,   and  a 

wilder  never  blew ; 
Earth  that  waited  for  the  wreckage  watched  the 

galley  struggle  through. 
Burning    noon    or   choking  midnight,   Sickness, 

Sorrow,  Parting,  Death  ? 
Nay,  our  very  babes  would   mock  you,  had  they 

time  for  idle  breath. 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley,  and  another  takes 

my  place ; 
There's    my  name   upon  the  deck-beam — let  it 

stand  a  little  space. 


246  OTHER    VERSES. 

I  am  free — to  watch  my  messmates  beating  out 

to  open  main, 
Free  of  all  that  Life  can  offer — -save  to  handle 

sweep  again. 

By  the  brand  upon  my  shoulder,  by  the  gall  of 
clinging  steel, 

By  the  welt  the  whips  have  left  me,  by  the  scars 
that  never  heal ; 

By  eyes  grown  old  with  staring  through  the  sun- 
wash  on  the  brine, 

I  am  paid  in  full  for  service — would  that  service 
still  were  mine  1 

Yet  they  talk  of  times  and  seasons  and  of  wo 

the  years  bring  forth, 
Of   our   galley    swamped  and   shattered  in   the 

rollers  of  the  North. 
When  the  niggers   break  the  hatches,  and  the 

decks  are  gay  with  gore, 
And  a  craven-hearted  pilot  crams  her  crashing  on 

the  shore. 


THE    GALLEY-SLAVE.  247 

She  will   need   no  half-mast  signal,  minute-gun, 

or  rocket-flare, 
When  the  cry  for  help   goes  seaward,  she   will 

find  her  servants  there. 
Battered  chain-gangs  of  the  orlop,  grizzled  drafts 

of  years  gone  by, 
To  the  bench  that  broke  their  manhood,  they  shall 

lash  themselves  and  die. 

Hale  and  crippled,  young  and  aged,  paid,  deserted, 
shipped  away — 

Palace,  cot,  and  lazaretto  shall  make  up  the  tale 
that  day, 

When  the  skies  are  black  above  them,  and  the 
decks  ablaze  beneath, 

And  the  top-men  clear  the  raffle  with  their  clasp- 
knives  in  their  teeth. 

It  may  be  that  Fate  will  give  me  life  and  leave  to 

row  once  more — 
Set  some  strong  man  free  for  fighting  as  I  take 

awhile  his  oar. 


248  OTHER    VERSES. 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley.     Shall  I  curse  her 

service  then? 
God  be   thanked — whate'er  comes   after,  I  have 

lived  and  toiled  with  Men ! 


L'ENVOI.  249 


L'ENVOI. 

( To  whom  it  may  concern. ) 

THE  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 

The  flowers  decay, 
The  Goddess  of  your  sacrifice 

Has  flown  away. 
What  profit  then  to  sing  or  slay 
The  sacrifice  from  day  to  day  ? 

"  We  know  the  Shrine  is  void/'  they  said, 

"  The  Goddess  flown- 
Yet  wreaths  are  on  the  Altar  laid — 

The  Altar-Stone 
Is  black  with  fumes  of  sacrifice, 
Albeit  She  has  fled  our  eyes. 

"  For,  it  may  be,  if  still  we  sing 
And  tend  the  Shrine, 


250  OTHER    VERSES. 

Some  Deity  on  wandering  wing 

May  there  incline ; 
And,  finding  all  in  order  meet, 
Stay  while  we  worship  at  Her  feet.' 


THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORKSHOPS.  251 


THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORKSHOPS. 

WHEN  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first  on 

Eden's  green  and  gold, 
Our  father  Adam  sat  under  the  Tree  and  scratched 

with  a  stick  in  the  mold ; 
And  the  first  rude  sketch  that  the  world  had  seen 

was  joy  to  his  mighty  heart, 
Till  the  Devil  whispered  behind  the  leaves  :  "  It's 

pretty,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 

Wherefore    he  called  to   his  wife,  and  fled  to 

fashion  his  work  anew— 
The  first  of  his  race  who  cared  a  fig  for  the  first, 

most  dread  review  ; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his   sons — and 

that  was  a  glorious  gain 
When  the  Devil  chuckled  :  "  Is  it  art  ?  "   in  the 

ear  of  the  branded  Cain. 


252  OTHER    VERSES. 

They    builded    a    tower   to   shiver  the  sky   and 

wrench  the  stars  apart, 
Till  the  Devil  grunted  behind  the  bricks  :  "  It's 

striking,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 
The  stone  was  dropped  by  the   quarry-side,  and 

the  idle  derrick  swung, 
While  each  man  talked  of  the  aims  of  art,  and 

each  in  an  alien  tongue. 

They  fought  and  they  talked  in  the  north  and  the 

south,  they  talked  and  they  fought  in  the  west, 
Till  the  waters  rose  on  the   jabbering  land,  and 

the  poor  Eed  Clay  had  rest — 
Had  rest  till  the  dank  blank-canvas  dawn  when 

the  dove  was  preened  to  start, 
And  the  Devil  bubbled  below  the   keel :  "  It's 

human,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 

The  tale  is  old  as  the  Eden  Tree — as  new  as  the 

new-cut  tooth — 
For  each  man  knows  ere  his  lip-thatch  grows  he 

is  master  of  art  and  truth ; 


THE    CONUNDRUM    OF   THE    WORKSHOPS.     253 

And  each  man  hears  as  the  twilight  nears,  to  the 

beat  of  his  dying  heart, 
The   Devil  drum  on  the  darkened  pane :  "  You 

did  it,  but  was  it  art  ?  " 

We  have   learned   to   whittle  the  Eden  Tree  to 

the  shape  of  a  surplice-peg, 
We  have  learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain  in 

the  yolk  of  an  addled  egg, 
We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,  as  the 

horse  is  drawn  by  the  cart ; 
But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old : 

"  It's  clever,  but  is  it  art  ?  " 

When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint  on 

the  club-room's  green  and  gold, 
The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch 

with  their  pens  in  the  mold — 
They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mold  of  their 

graves,  and  the  ink  and  the  anguish  start 
When  the  Devil  mutters  behind  the  leaves  :   "  It's 

pretty,  but  is  it  art?" 


254  OTHER    VERSES. 

Now,  if  we  could  win  to  the  Eden  Tree  where 

the  four  great  rivers  flow, 
And  the  wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf  as  she 

left  it  long  ago, 
And  if  we  could  come  when  the  sentry  slept,  and 

softly  scurry  through, 
By  the  favor  of  God  we  might  know  as  much 

— as  our  father  Adam  knew. 


THE   EXPLANATION.  255 


THE  EXPLANATION. 

• 

LOVE  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 
At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 
Called  for  wine,  and  threw — alas  ! — 
Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 
When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 
Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 
Hastily  they  gathered  then 
Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 
Ah?  the  fateful  dawn  deceived  ! 
Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved : 
Death's  dread  armory  was  stored 
With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred  : 
Love's  light  quiver  groaned  beneath 
Venom-headed  darts  of  Death. 
Thus  it  was  they  wrought  our  woe 


256  OTHER    VERSES. 

At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 

Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 

Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly, 

Old  men  love  while  young  men  die  ? 


THE    GIFT    OF    THE    SEA.  257 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  SEA. 

THE  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 

And  the  widow  watched  beside ; 
And  her  mother  slept,  and  the  Channel  swept 

The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 


But  the  widow  laughed  at  all. 

"  I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
And  the  child  is  dead.     Be  still,"  she  said, 

"  What  more  can  you  do  to  me  ?  " 


And  the  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  guttered  low, 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

17 


258  OTHER    VERSES. 

And  "  Mary  take  you  now/'  she  sang, 
"  That  lay  against  my  heart." 

And  "  Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night/ 
But  she  could  not  say  "  Depart." 


Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea, 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass, 

And  "  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother  ?  "  she  said  ; 
"  'Tis  the  child  that  waits  to  pass." 


And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

"  'Tis  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin, 
For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out, 

That  never  knew  of  sin  ?  " 


"  Oh,  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 
Oh,  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 

How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 
And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch  ?  : 


THE    GIFT   OF    THE    SEA.  259 

They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

With  the  little  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  the  dirt, 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 


The  widow  lifted  the  latch 
And  strained  her  eyes  to  see, 

And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 
To  let  the  soul  go  free. 


There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost, 
There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark, 

And  "  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother  ?  "  she  said, 
"  'Tis  crying  for  me  in  the  dark." 


And  the  nodding  mother  sighed.  * 

"  'Tis  sorrow  makes  ye  dull ; 

Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 
Or  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull?" 


260  OTHER    VERSES. 

"  The  terns  are  blown  inland, 

The  gray  gull  follows  the  plow. 
'Twas  never  a  bird,  the  voice  I  heard, 

0  mother,  I  hear  it  now!  " 

"  Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still ; 

The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
'Tis  the   ache  in  your    breast  that  broke    your 
rest, 

And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm." 

She  puts  her  mother  aside, 

"  In  Mary's  name  let  be  ! 
For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,"  she  said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 

In  the  heel  of  the  wind-bit  pier, 
Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 

She  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an  hour, 
For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 


THE    GIFT    OF    THE    SEA.  261 

She  laid  it  into  her  breast, 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 

But  it  would  not  feed,  and  it  would  not  heed, 
Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name. 

And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark ; 

And,  "  God  forgive  us,  mother,"  she  said, 
"  We  let  it  die  in  the  dark  !  " 


262  OTHER   VERSES. 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS. 

Read  here, 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold, 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 
Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 
So  that  no  man  should  maim  him,  none  should 

steal, 

Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 
When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 
An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl, 
With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 
A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar 
And  worshiped  by  the  King ;  but,  drunk  with 

pride, 
Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS.         263 

He  wrote  above  the  shrine :    "  Thus  Gods  are 

made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die." 
And  all  the  city  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 

died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  his  city  had  no  wealth  to  give, 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar, 
Because  his  life  was  threatened  by  the  King, 
So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets, 
He   hacked    the  living  rock,   with  sweat  and 

tears, 

And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning-gold, 
A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar, 
And  worshiped  by  the  King ;    but,  drunk  with 

pride, 

Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back, 
He  carved  upon  the  plinth  :  "  Thus  Gods  are 
made, 


264  OTHER    VERSES. 

And     whoso     makes     them     otherwise     shall 

die." 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 

died. 

Head  here  the  story  ofJEvarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  he  lived  among  the  simple  folk, 
Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills, 
Because  he  smeared  his  cheeks  with  blood  of 

ewes, 

He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine, 
Smeared  blood  upon  its  cheeks,  and  wedged  a 

shell 

Above  its  brows  for  eye,  and  gave  it  hair 
Of    trailing     moss,    and     plaited    straw    for 

crown. 
And    all    the    village    praised    him    for    this 

craft, 
And    brought   him   butter,   honey    milk,  and 

curds. 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS.         265 

Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings   drove   him 

mad, 
He  scratched  upon  that  log :  "  Thus  Gods  are 

made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'9 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 

died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 
Should  swerve  a  hair's-breadth  from  the  pulse's 

path, 

And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone, 
Kag-wrapped,  among  the  cattle  in  the  fields, 
Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees, 
And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 
Drove    him    to    labor.       Out    of    dung   and 

horns 

Dropped   in    the   mire  he  made   a  monstrous 
God, 


266  OTHER    VERSES. 

Abhorrent,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plaintain 

tufts. 

And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight-time, 
He  dreamed  it  was  the  clamor  of  lost  crowds, 
And  howled  among  the  beasts :  "  Thus  Gods 

are  made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die." 
Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.  .  .  .  Then  he  died. 

Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that  he 

wrote ; 

And  marveled,  being  very  near  to  God, 
What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's  law, 
Till  God  said,  mocking :  "  Mock  not.     These  be 

thine." 
Then  cried  Evarra  :  "  I  have  sinned  !  " — "  Not 

so. 

If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 
Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 
And  I  were  poorer  by  four  wondrous  Gods, 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS.         267 

And  thy  more  wondrous  law,  Evarra.     Thine, 
Servant  of  shouting  crowds  and  lowing  kine." 
Thereat  with  laughing  mouth,  but  tear-wet  eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 
This  is  the  story  of  JZvarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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